Stranger Things Will Happen
by tinyobsessions
Summary: AU. Brittany is a bike courier for one of Manhattan's most well known service shops. On one fateful day when she's dispatched on a top priority delivery, her path is forever intertwined with Santana Lopez's - a small town hotshot looking to 'make it big' in New York working for a new up and coming business mogul. But the delivery comes with a few...complications. Superhero!Brittany
1. Fake pirates and Pandora

A/N: Well how 'bout it. This piece of work is my first committed story. I hope you enjoy the ride and we'll have fun.

Rating: It's T for now, but that will most certainly change as the story progresses...Hehe.

Disclaimer: If anyone asks. Nope, I own nothing! RIB and Fox beat me to the punch.

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**Chapter 1: Special Delivery- Fake pirates and Pandora's Box**

Brittany had just stepped foot out of her apartment in downtown Manhattan, when her dispatcher crackled in through the 2-way nestled in the strap of her backpack.

"_Bright eyes, hey!"_

Brittany fumbled with her strap, trying to find the button on the radio that would transmit her voice. She always had trouble with the whole PTT aspect of using it. How come they couldn't just talk after the other person finished?

When she finally mashed the rectangular button on the side of the radio, she had already locked her door and started for the stairwell.

"Hi Wally!" She said brightly, grinning when a few stray kids came rushing past her and down the flight of stairs she was on. Their giggles and playful screams only making the smile on her face grow. The best part though, was the panic stricken mother who came running behind them a few minutes later. Only stopping to send Brittany a questioning glare, who in return pointed in the general direction of the escaped kids. Their mother disappeared in pursuit of them soon after, a mess of big bright pink rollers and an open robe. She had no idea maternity clothes could be so…revealing.

"_Brittany hon, I need you on this delivery. It's at this new big time money mogul. Complete pricks if you ask me. Are you up for it?" _Wally's drawl was very distinctive. His voice was throaty and a little startling at times. Perhaps the fact that he was practically a smoking chimney aided in the ominous, gravely tone of his voice.

She furrowed her brows in confusion, she had been all across New York countless times and not once had she seen any kind of 'big business' construction. It wasn't possible to put up a huge skyscraper overnight was it?

"Umm, totally. Where is it?" She asked, as she hopped off the second to last step, her feet hitting the concrete with a soft thump. Brittany was always up for something new. She jiggled the U-Lock that went around one of her bike spokes and secured it to the rack. She quickly jammed the key in the lock, smiling when she heard the familiar click of the opening.

"_It's up the street a few blocks from you actually."_ Now Brittany was even more perplexed at how she hadn't noticed the building before.

"_Just head down the main avenue from your apartment and keep going straight until you see the burned down pizza parlor. Turn left and you should be able to see it as you're coming up…It's pretty damn big." _ His voice ended abruptly which let Brittany know that his finger was off the button and she could talk.

"Okay awesome." Her smile could be heard through the radio. She picked up her bike with ease, its carbon fiber based frame making it easy to lift. She carried it a ways down from her apartment building, turning the corner and heading into the bustling sunny streets of Lower Manhattan.

Once she set the bike down, making sure to keep hold of it with one hand, she readjusted the strap of her backpack. It was thick comfortable material that ran the length of her chest diagonally. The back portion of the bag fit between her shoulder blades comfortably, which made for an easier delivery when she had heavy packages.

In one swift motion, she swung her left leg over the bike, placing her hands on the bars and kicking off with the right leg still planted firmly on the ground. She threw a quick glance over her left shoulder to see if there were any cars coming. Of course there were cars, but they weren't moving at a considerable speed—more like snail's pace.

Then she took off. Her legs were pumping and propelling the bike forward and into the busy yellow streets. The 2-way on her shoulder came to life again. First there was static and then Wally's voice range clear.

"_Hey…Brittany." _ There was a pause and then he spoke up again, his voice firm. _"When you deliver this package, be quick about it. When the call came in the guy seemed kind of nervous, and he sounded shady. The fellas weren't up for it so I decided to ask my best girl. You're my money maker, bright eyes…just be careful."_

"Okay Wally." Brittany smiled. He was always extra cautious with the things he dispatched her. The minute she accidently stumbled through those doors all those years ago, he and frankly the entire shop were completely taken with her easy blue eyes and dazzling smile. Even his wife adored her. She tried to stuff Brittany with as much food as possible whenever she was around. She always chastised her for not eating proper meals. 'Beautiful girls need to eat too, doll' she would say.

"Hey, ask Lisa to save me a plate. Oh, and don't go in the washroom, Lord Tubbington was playing Cheesy murder yesterday afternoon. Crisp Bacon did it…There's fondue all over the place."

When Wally's voice rang through again there was the distinct sound of laughter. _"Dammit Brittany, let me have a serious moment for once in my life."_

Brittany sighed, pressing down the button. "Bye Wally."

She had already mixed herself in with the vibrant city. All the sounds came together in one loud orchestra of _noise. _Slamming taxicab doors, slamming car doors. Honking horns. Fussing truck drivers and deliverymen. Foreign cab drivers yelling out of their windows. Barking city mutts and street performers banging away. It all came together in a strange harmonious raucous.

But there she was, zipping through it all so freely. Her loose flowing hair whipped wildly beneath her helmet as she cut through the air and through the dangerous maze of cars and stray opening doors. At any moment she could collide with a car, a door, or even someone walking across the street. She kept pedaling though, pumping her legs faster and harder. There was no point in slowing down because she wasn't planning on stopping any time soon. It felt like she was flying.

She soon fell into the familiarity of the streets, smiling when the warmth from the bakery could be felt emanating from the shop as she passed. As well as the yelling and shouting about "burnt cannolis!? Giovanni, why can't you get a girl? Maybe then you'll finally become a man and stop living at my shop!"

Brittany laughed, 'Giovanni' had been living there for years apparently. She continued on, catching whiff of the sweet smelling lilies from the flower shop that mingled with the wind. Brittany quickly cut the corner once she arrived at the checkpoint, leaning a little into the turn to make sure she didn't turn wide and into oncoming cars. The burned down pizza parlor sat right there at the corner.

"Hey! Brittany!" A figure across the street was waving frantically in an attempt to get her attention. It worked. Brittany turned her head in the direction of the voice, quickly catching sight of a brown head of hair. She had become distracted for only a second. Bad idea.

Almost in slow motion, Brittany had turned back around when a cab door opened out in front of her. Out came a red stiletto clad foot, followed closely by the most delicious legs Brittany had ever seen. Perfectly sun kissed olive in tone and they looked so smooth.

All too soon though, she ended up colliding front first with the door and tumbling off her bike with about as much grace as Mike Tyson. Move like a butterfly and it stung like hell. Wait…that was Mohammad Ali. She landed with an 'oof.'

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Legs and Stilettos yelled from the cab, quickly slipping out of her seat and into the sun.

Brittany was still trying to untangle herself from the confines of her bike—which was a mess of limbs and bike frame—but she looked up when she heard that voice. Brittany was nothing short of awestruck. She couldn't see the woman's face because the sun was directly overhead, casting a mysterious shadow over her face. But god, her voice was like unicorns riding a rainbow. Totally gay and totally okay. It was perfectly raspy but rolled smoothly from her tongue.

It seemed like she had lost all brain to mouth function due to what she said next. "Are you seeing them too? The angels I mean?" Brittany asked, but that's not what she wanted to say at all. Sometimes when she was nervous or excited, she would say the weirdest things. Of course when she asked the question she was referring to the angel standing right in front of her.

"Oh my god, you hit your head really hard didn't you? Ugh I can't deal with this right now, I'm gonna be late." She stepped out from in front of the sun, and now Brittany could see her clearly. She started smiling ridiculously large, and the woman flinched away from the crazy girl still lying on the ground.

Stilettos began fumbling around in her purse—probably looking for something. She sighed when she pulled her phone out, quickly dialing a number in and waiting. Brittany was of course still lying on the ground because she had no idea what was going on.

"_Hello 911, what's your emergency?" _ Brittany could hear the greeting on the other side of the phone. She quickly got to her feet, albeit haphazardly while stumbling over her bike, but still she got up on her feet nonetheless.

"Yes, some crazy chick on a bike ran into my cab door. I think she might have hit her head when she fell…" The woman trailed off, glancing at a disheveled Brittany and then talking into the phone again. "She thought I was an angel." She laughed sarcastically. Brittany reached for the phone quickly slipping it from the woman's unsuspecting grip and speaking into the receiver.

"911…person. I'm fine. Don't send the screaming car, it's scary."

The person on the other side of the phone paused for a second, and then spoke up. _"Brittany!"_ He yelled down the line.

"Sam!" Brittany yelled back, she had no idea he had become an emergency operator.

"_I thought you would've learned by now that cab doors are a no-no." _ He chastised her.

"It's not my fault," she turned to glance at the woman who was currently trying to get her phone back. Brittany placed her hand on her chest—not _there_—to keep her from getting to it. "She should have looked before she decided to open the door." The woman scoffed indignantly and Brittany smiled.

"_Yeah, well since this isn't an actual emergency I have to go. There's other people who might just be dying while I'm here talking to you about cab doors." _

"Bye Sam!" She quickly hung up before he could say it back. She loved doing that, because he would get angry and then try to call her back to say bye. Brittany turned back to Stilettos who was practically fuming.

"Can I have my phone back now, Blondie?" She stuck her hand out expectantly. Brittany was confused—who was Blondie? That wasn't her name…was she trying to be funny? She didn't hear any honking horns or feel a nudge to her ribs.

"What? My name is Brittany…"She trailed off, frowning at the scowling woman in front of her. She handed the phone over hesitantly, but surprisingly the woman didn't snatch it from her, she gently pulled it from her fingers.

"I'm so sorry for running into your door like that." Brittany apologized. "And thanks for calling 911 just in case." She was bashful all of a sudden, somehow embarrassed that this stranger cared about her safety.

"Yeah, whatever. Just watch where you're going next time." She dismissed Brittany's thanks while eyeing her get up. A tight and tiny gray tank top, that rose just above her belly button. She wore skintight biking shorts underneath loose purple and light blue running shorts, as well as leg warmers…on her arms. The smallest of smiles crept up on the woman's face. Brittany noticed.

"Yeah," Brittany took a look at her watch, not really being able to tell if it was the long hand that told the hour or the second, or the short hand that told the hour or the minute. She sighed in frustration.

"Um, what time is it?" She asked the woman still standing in front of her. Taking off the leg warmers and stuffing them in her backpack.

"A little after three, why?" She griped.

"I have to go!" Brittany still had a package to deliver, and Wally was counting on her to make it. She took a look at her ruined bike and just decided she'd run the rest of the way, there wasn't much left to travel anyways. She readjusted her bag and picked up her trashed bike, throwing it in the alley next to the sidewalk. Some bum would probably come along and use the parts.

She turned on her heel, preparing to take off but not without saying bye to Ms. Legs and Stilettos. "Bye," she waved shyly and then she took off leaving her perfect stranger—with pitch-black hair so dark it shined red in the sunlight—behind.

* * *

She had finally made it to the building. Wally was right when he said it was big. It was unnecessarily _huge_. BIOTECH was hanging in big, angry red letters at the very top.

Brittany quickly crossed the street, which was fairly empty compared to the traffic on other streets. She circled the building in search of the entrance for messengers and other couriers. When she found it she quickly pulled it open, immediately struck by how cold the inside was. It was kind of dark and damp and to the left was the freight elevator that would carry her to base level where the secretary was.

A big brute of a man stood just to the left of the door—like immediately to the left—and it startled Brittany when he stepped from out of the shadows and into the unflattering fluorescent light. "Can I see some identification?" He remained stoic behind his one black eye patch. How cliché, Brittany thought.

"Are you a pirate?" She questioned simply. The guard shook his head, not really answering her question but not completely ignoring it either. He was still waiting for her to show some identification, so she took out her card with her name, her employer and all that jazz on it. While she was handing it over she continued talking to 'Mr. Brooding Silent Type.'

"Well maybe you shouldn't wear that eye patch. Pirates get angry when there's an impostarrrgh," she exaggerated the last syllable in the word, trying to sound like a pirate. She even went so far as to curl her finger up in an imaginary hook and swipe at the air. He gave her a look, raising a perfectly bushy eyebrow above his eye patch and handing her, her ID back. Well that went well she thought.

"Bye," she waved and all he did was nod but she smiled because he acknowledged her goodbye.

_Be quick about it_. She remembers what Wally said so she rushed to the freight elevator, pressing the only one button there is that will take her up. She closes the cage like doors and waits for the creaking to stop and the elevator to move. She is at the secretary desk a few moments later, ready to sign off on the package. Then she's swung for a loop.

"Ah, Brittany," the secretary clasps his hands together as he moves from behind the desk and towards her. She instinctively takes a few steps back, smiling good-naturedly but remaining cautious of the man. For one thing, how did he know her name and why was he actively trying to engage her? Most times during a delivery Brittany wouldn't even make eye contact with a client…it was against unspoken policy. Second, his smile was beyond too big and his curly hair looked like he had used a full can of PAM on it. A brilo pad dipped in butter.

"Oh, how rude of me! My name is Will Schuester, it's nice to finally meet you," he extends his hand—waiting for what Brittany guesses is a handshake. She slips her hand into his, wincing a little when his calloused fingers grip her palm a little too roughly. "Nice. Strong handshake." He comments offhandedly.

"Um, yeah. I'm here for the package?" She questions, wondering if that's really what she was there for.

"Oh! Yes of course. It's right here." He starts, as if he had forgotten about it completely. Seriously, this dude was a scatterbrain. He leans back against the desk, slipping his arm behind him to fumble for the package.

When he pulls it out, he doesn't hand it over right away. Instead he gazes at the disgusting peeling tape with an eerie sense of awe. Then he starts circling Brittany like she was a shiny new car on display. She shifts uncomfortably, and couldn't help but feel like she was being examined. Wally never said anything about her having to take a test. She hated tests. He finally stops when he's done a couple laps. He stands right in front of her, the box in his hands extended forward. As she slips the package from his hands he whispers "perfect subject."

Substantially creeped out, Brittany signs the paper, slamming the pen down and turning on her heel to head for the freight elevator. She's just about to step into it when Will yells something from behind her. An address that she guesses is where the package should be dropped. She closes up the elevator and smiles as it's going down.

The thing is…she knew that address wasn't to a building at all. It was the intersection at Time Square.

* * *

Since her bike wasn't an option, Brittany caught the subway that ended just a ways down from the intersection at Broadway, 7th Av and 42nd St.

Times Square. Absolute controlled chaos. Tourists, flashing cameras, skyscraper sized show posters. All the chaos came to a head here, at this intersection.

Brittany surveyed the area, hoping to find someone to drop the package with. She didn't see anyone that stuck out as her next drop point. Just an old lady that kept talking to the two rats—yes, sewer sized rats—in her lap.

Her 2-way was picking up static and a garbled voice. She pressed down the button. "Wally, is that you?"

"_Hello Brittany." _The voice came through loud and clear. It wasn't Wally's voice. His voice was deep, but this voice was bellowing, it shook your stomach like a drum line.

"Who is this?" She panicked. Only she and Wally shared this frequency.

"_Just…"_ he paused. The package in Brittany's hands began shaking, rumbling within its cardboard and tape covered containment. _"A concerned citizen."_

She had attracted the attention of a few curious onlookers by then, since she was practically yelling into the radio on her shoulder. Suddenly a bright blue beam of light shot straight through the package into her eyes and momentarily blinding her. It sounded like the pistons on some big robot were exploding and creaking against each other. It was deafening. She could hear the distinct sound of screaming and panic. She wondered why she hadn't dropped the package and ran yet.

When she could finally open her eyes, the beam of light shooting out of the package had increased to twenty or thirty. It was like everything had been encased in molasses. The running people and screams were all slowed down to a steady crawl. Even the cops headed her way were moving slowly. Except she wasn't frozen in slow motion, only everyone and everything besides her and the box she was carrying.

She took a step forward and the package began shaking so hard that it jostled her whole body. Then in an instant it exploded, erupting into a massive dome of blinding blue light. It engulfed her entire body, and the searing pain quickly followed. It was _unbearable, _the pain she felt. It was like dull knives were slowly slicing her open and then she was being sown back up all wrong. Pins and needles that felt like electricity moved throughout her body. What was worse was that she could see it all happening right in front of her. The small slithers of blue energy crawling up her arms from where she was holding the box. It seeped into her and surged with a strong flash of light that shone from beneath her skin. The slithers were rapidly spreading up the length of both her arms that were glued to the box by her hands.

The dome of light—or whatever it was—spread rapidly, sucking up everything it came across. She thought it was just another harmless cardboard package with the tape peeling off. But then it wasn't so harmless anymore. No…this was something entirely different.

**Next chapter should be up sometime next week.**


	2. First Day, Worst Day

A/N: Wow, this update is way past due date. I thought I'd be able to get it up earlier but apparently life had other things in mind. Anyways, this is from Santana's POV on the same day. I got stuck on this chapter but after this, the updates should be coming through easier.

Cord: Hmm...you're getting very warm. Although a few things are modified to fit the story. We'll see! :P

Silver85:'Tis my favorite video game as well.

guest & Guest: Thank you for the reviews and stick around to see what goes down...

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**Chapter 2: First Day, Worst Day**

Santana had finally made it—in New York no less—and she was going to take advantage of it.

Just a few weeks before she was planning on quitting her shitty job in small town Ohio, her boss had called her into work early. It was at the time of dawn when the roosters were still sleeping and the early birds were still trying to get over their bingo night highs.

When she stepped into Jesse St. James' office, what she was expecting was a far cry from what was handed to her.

"Sit down, sit down," he rose from his emperor like desk chair as Santana closed the door behind her. She sat down, crossing one leg over the other and casting a less than impressed look at Jesse's face. See Jesse and Santana were never friends, not even mutual acquaintances since he decided sticking her on coffee duty for the rest of her adult life was a good idea. _Wrong. _Within less than a week they were constantly at each other's throats, Jesse didn't like decaf coffee—no he liked caffeinated with 2 sugars, "_hold one sugar," _and the red plastic stirring stick instead of the wooden one because it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Santana was far beyond over-qualified for coffee boy errands and Jesse knew that. Yet despite her best efforts, Santana couldn't convince him of her necessary part at this business. Jesse was an overbearing prick that liked to play games. 'You'll work your way up, Santana. Get to know the business and then you can properly represent us.' Yeah, bringing them coffee was definitely how she was going to get to know the business.

When Santana had finally made it to college and figured her crap out, cheerleading wasn't in her 'big plan.' New York was where her sights were set and she knew what her one-way ticket there was. She majored in communications, focusing on public relations and corporate business. When she finally graduated—her degree in hand—with her luck, a small technology company in the more established part of Lima, Ohio had offered her a job. BIOWORKS Tech. a small branch of the bigger company being built in Manhattan. When she got the call back she couldn't really believe it. New York was practically sitting in the palm of her hand if she did well at this job. However, she was stuck with coffee duty.

Now she was in Jesse's office, all but ready to quit until he threw her a curveball. "You're ready," he stopped pacing the room, leaning back onto his desk.

"For what?" Santana questioned, her eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed against her chest. Her scowl was set firmly in place having been perfected over the years.

"I'm giving you the job." He shook his head as if Santana was too slow to understand.

"What the hell are you talking about James? Is this some kind of joke?" She was so tired of his games and now she was sure—more than ever—that she wanted to quit and cut her losses.

"The job in Manhattan, I recommended you to my father and he thought it was a swell idea. Of course it was, I thought it up," He swept the non-existent particles of lint from his black suit.

"I haven't even done anything." Santana was skeptical for obvious reasons. "You've had me running around bringing you coffee for the past six months." She snaps.

"I know that, Santana." He smiles, his haughty gaze slipping below Santana's chest and back to her face. Pervert. She crosses her arms back over her chest.

"I just needed to keep you occupied until I could get in a good word with my father." He continues. "You know, find you something to do that way you could still get paid. You should be thanking me that I even care this much." He frowns indignantly.

"Well yeah, who knew you were such a saint?" Santana fires back. "Why did you call me here?" She had reached beyond hulk levels of annoyance.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asks perplexed, his eyes squinting.

"How am I supposed to get there? When do you expect me to leave? Do you want me to just ship all of my stuff to an apartment that I _don't have_?" Santana fires off questions.

"Wait, wait," Jesse puts his hands up in surrender, trying to calm Santana down. "My father and I have already worked things out. We booked a hotel for you for two weeks and a few days until you can find an apartment. I even took the liberty of buying you a plane ticket."

Santana was still skeptical and when Jesse didn't say anything more, she got up and started heading towards the door.

"All you have to do is say yes, Santana. It's your one way to New York." Santana stops in her tracks and looks back at Jesse over her shoulder. She turns the nob on the door, flinging it open and walking out.

"Yeah, okay." She throws her agreement over her shoulder and misses the smile that crosses Jesse's face.

* * *

The minute she steps foot onto the plane, Santana loses her mind. Not once has she ever been anywhere too far outside of Lima, let alone another state entirely. To say she was nervous would be an understatement.

She immediately finds her seat and plops down securing her buckle across her chest even before the pilot instructs all the passengers to do so. She doesn't even notice when someone sits down in the seat right next to her. Her knuckles are white from how hard she's gripping the armrests.

"Hey, lady!" Santana doesn't turn her head, but she was already annoyed from the nerves and this man trying to talk to her wasn't helping that.

"What?" She answers tersely, not turning to even acknowledge him.

"Jeeze," he weakly retorts moving god knows what around in his bag. "You look like shit, lady." Maybe it was the nerves and aggravation, or perhaps she had gone delirious from it all but she found herself actually laughing at the balls on this stranger. Suddenly a children's coloring book was thrown into her line of sight. Now she knew what he had been messing around in his bag for. She cast him a questioning glare.

"How old are you?" She mocks him. He doesn't respond too well, roughly bringing his hands through his auburn hair in frustration and then frowning.

"Look lady, I'm trying to help_ you_ out." He replies, while shaking the coloring book in her face. She snatches it from his clumsy hands so the passengers around them would stop staring.

In all the commotion the man was causing, Santana had been completely distracted as the plane took off. She didn't notice until she looked out the window and she saw the clouds slithering by.

"You're welcome." He says from over her shoulder. She can hear the amusement in his voice but she ignores him with skill. She sets the coloring book down in her lap and forgets about it. Santana Lopez was not about to play in a coloring book.

Santana rests her head back against the seat and turns her sights back on the heavy clouds floating against the orange sky outside her window. Each one she sees is like counting sheep. Her eyelids get heavy and her thoughts become foggy as sleep creeps up on her and soon takes over her body. All the nerves and anxiety from before had completely tired her out.

* * *

Santana awakes to a mostly quiet plane and the man from earlier who was wide awake with earphones shoved into his ears and the music blaring. She picks up the forgotten book and hands it to him. He takes out the earphones and puts the book back into his bag. "Why do you have that?" She asks him, curious as to why a grown man would be carrying around a coloring book.

He turns to her, pausing for a second and then turns away. "It's for someone special, I've been gone for quite some time," he shrugs.

"Okay..." she frowns at his reaction to her questions but she forgets it when the pilot's voice comes over the intercom.

_"Everyone buckle up, we're coming in for a landing. Welcome to New York!" _He says cheerily.

Santana quickly pulls the belt across her chest and buckles in. Sending the man next to her a questioning look when he just sits there thumbing the dogtags around his neck. Then it hits her. _I've been gone for a long time. _

"Oh." She mumbles beneath her breath, turning more towards the man to take a closer look at him. His broad shoulders, strong build, and the U.S. Army branded across the back of his faded green shirt.

"Puck," he holds his hand out for her to shake but she's too shocked to understand anything that's going on.

_I'll be back Santanita. Siempre para ti. Siempre, cariño._

Puck snaps his fingers in front of Santana's face in an attempt to bring her back to Earth.

"Santana," she breathes out as she places her limp hand in Puck's. He doesn't call her out on her moment—and for that she's thankful—instead taking her hand into his with a grateful smile.

"Well nice to meet you, _Santana._" He breathes her name out all dramatically, mocking her and then heartily laughing when she smacks him on the shoulder.

* * *

When the plane landed and they had parted ways, Santana was left to wander the fairly empty airport terminal in search of something—she didn't know what, but maybe it would make itself known soon. She sure hoped so because this was the third time she had the circled the place, and the weird man 'sleeping' in his chair would just so happen to be facing in her direction wherever she stood.

He was like some incognito reject that had just gotten off work from the party sto-

"You, Samantha Lindez yes!" Someone yells from behind her. Completely oblivious and way too happy.

"No..." She trails off angrily, perplexed at who 'Samantha' was. Did she look like a Samantha?

"Yes!This you, I have picture dammit! You think I'm stupid." He angrily points to a small printout of her with her name written at the bottom. Bless his heart, he had completely butchered her name. She smirked in amusement. His face was red and blotchy. When she didn't respond he scurried around Santana, picking her things up and carrying them away. She quickly followed behind.

"Wait, where are you going with my stuff?"

"Where you think? Gah, and I'm dumb one. My son never marry you." He continues to fuss. Santana figures this is the guy that's supposed to be taking her to her hotel. She completely disregards her offense at his snide remark about his son. He throws the cab door open for her to get in while he puts the luggage in the trunk.

She slides into the surprisingly comfortable leather seats and tucks herself in, waiting for the guy to get in as well. She can hear him fussing even as he puts up the suitcases. "Ayah, so much damn luggage!" He slams the trunk down and comes around to the driver's seat.

Once he gets in, he whips around in his seat to face Santana, plastering an incredibly uncomfortable smile across his face in an attempt at being friendly. Yeah, he was trying to get paid today.

"Buckle up," he advises in broken English, spinning back around and taking the wheel in a death grip. She barely has time to the snap the metal head of the seat belt into it's buckle before he slams his foot down on the gas.

With the driver speeding like a bat out of hell, Santana was at the hotel and checking in, in no time. The suite had already been booked for her before she arrived apparently. The concierge, with his perfectly groomed—although thinning—wiry hair combed back and his mousy features at full alert was quick to notice her walk in. It was comical the way his thin handlebar mustache even twitched like that of a mouse as she stepped up to the desk.

"Ah, you must be Santana!" He flourishes, clasping his hands together like she was so interesting. Even the way he said her name sounded strange rolling off his tongue. It was just Santana, not _Sauntauna. _But apparently her name was too boring for this guy's tastes.

She flops her hand out across the desk, silently asking for the key to her hotel room. He starts, probably not used to being met with such cold behavior after being so kind. He raises pale hands to the rack of keys hung up behind him, picking his way through each row in search of her number. He lets out an 'ahah!' when he reaches her key, plucking it from it's golden nail and daintily setting it in the palm of her hand.

"Enjoy your stay," he bows as if it were the end of a play on Broadway and the performers had lined up on stage to accept the applause. Except he wasn't met with any kind of appreciation. Just a roll of irritated mocha brown eyes and a whip of air as Santana quickly turned on her heels away from his petulant smile.

With a quickness she hadn't noticed, her driver had already unloaded all of her luggage onto a baggage cart that was waiting with her very own personal bellhop. She approached the cart, fully intending to take care of her own damn stuff until a white gloved hand stopped her advances. She recoiled, veering away from the strangers touch and _warm__ smile. _Ugh! His spiked jet black hair and small smile pulled to the side of his face threw her off. His uniform fit snug, and Santana could tell it was probably due to incredibly toned muscle that showed in the strength of his jaw and neck. Regardless she smiled back, which probably appeared as more of a gruesome attempt at being friendly on her part.

He grinned at the strained look on her face, taking a hold of her baggage cart and pulling it along behind him as he gestured for Santana to follow him to the bronze door elevators. They were beyond massive, at least taller than her-but most things were taller than her so... He mashed the crystal covered button with the arrow pointing up and almost immediately the elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a great swoosh.

_Oh my God! She'd found the entrance to Olympus and soon Zeus and his brain babies would come flooding ou-_

"Ma'am?" The man's calm voice brought her out of her wild thoughts. She grew angry at the look of amusement all over his face.

"Am I funny to you, bellboy?" She snaps as she saunters into the elevator, the baggage cart separating her from the bellhop. He shook his head, choosing not to respond but still keeping the same amused look on his face. Santana was seething. Leave it up to the loser bellboy at the bottom of the chain to make fun of her and her small town astonishment.

The doors closed smoothly, cutting her and the man off from the busy main lobby. As the elevator began to move the man spoke up. "You're not from around her are you?" He eyed her up and faced forward again as if he hadn't said anything. Was she that obvious?

"It's kind of obvious." He continued, still facing forward. It was as if he had read her mind. She looked at him in question, wondering why he cared so much. Her eyes quickly fell to the plain black letters on the small rectangle pinned just above his left breast pocket. 'MIKE CHANG' was engraved in black gothic text across it.

"No...I'm not, I'm from Ohio." She surprises herself by how open she's being with a complete stranger whose name she just learned. Mike smiles, happy that he's getting her to relax and open up but all too soon the elevator dings, the tell tale sign that they've reached the destined floor. Mike immediately exits to the left with the cart squeaking right behind him. Santana soon follows, following the complicated turns and twists until they reach her door literally at the end of the hall.

She just hopes that her room isn't the one that's possessed like in the movies she used to watch as a kid. It's always the last one at the end of the hall, and she doesn't have time for any angry crotchety ass spirits to be harassing her while she's hidden behind a shower curtain with her goodies on full display.

_Ain't nobody got time for all that._

"May I see your key?" Mike enquires politely, while flourishing his hand out awaiting the tiny metal key. Santana quickly sets it in his white gloved hand and steps back as he opens the door and pulls the cart behind him in one swift motion. Santana slowly comes up behind him, watching in awe as all the lit up buildings decorate the night sky. The huge panels of windows take up an entire wall to the left of her room. All she has to do is step up to it and she can see the busy streets working below her and the piles of black trash bags lined along the sidewalk. Part of her is excited and the other half is completely overwhelmed by it all. This was her first time outside small minded Lima and into an almost different world entirely.

She rests her hands against the cool glass, making sure not to rest too heavily on it in fear that she would fall right through. "Enjoy your stay," Mike backs out of the room while pulling that stupid squeaking cart right behind him. Santana stays glued to the windows and misses the smile Mike sends her on his way out. The click of the door is what brings her out of her stupor. She swivels around and sees that the bellhop had neatly stacked her luggage at the end of the humongous bed in the middle of the room.

Santana heads to the side of her bed where the night stand is and takes the phone off the receiver. She types in a few numbers and waits for the ring. Almost immediately, someone picks up.

"Santana!" A child-like voice immediately answers from the other end. Santana smiles sadly.

"Hey, little one." She coos over the line, scrunching up her nose regardless of the fact that nobody can see her.

"I miss you...Santana when are you gonna come home?" If her heart had strings they'd be wrapping themselves around her beating organ and squeezing tighter and tighter.

"I don't know, Diego. I got a new job offer that pays good money. Now you and mom don't have to worry about anything. I can take care of you." She pauses. "Both of you." She quickly adds.

"Momma says you're too kind and that she can take care of herself." Diego imitates in a high pitched voice. Santana smiles through her watering eyes, but the tears don't come.

"Mom needs to stop wearing her pride on her sleeve." Santana snaps down the phone. "I'm sorry." She quickly apologizes when the line stays quiet.

"It's okay." Diego sighs and then Santana hears some shuffling around going on. "She misses you too you know." Santana laughs, leave it up to her little brother to realize that Santana's snappy remark was code for missing someone.

"I made you something!" Diego yells excitedly. "I'm gonna ask momma tomorrow if she'll help me send it to you." His voice is thick with hope and excitement. Santana nods, forgetting that her brother can't see her.

"Yeah, that sounds awesome," she peers at the clock on the nightstand. It had 12 AM etched across it in blocky red numbers. She needed to get some rest if she was going to get anything done tomorrow. If she was accurate she was going to have to find an apartment, locate where her furniture might be, and find out where she worked all in less than three weeks.

"Listen Diego, tell Mom I love her and that I'm doing fine okay." She says.

"Okay...goodbye San."

"Goodnight Diego, I'll call you soon. Love you." She waits for him to say it back before setting the phone back down on the receiver and laying back on the bed. It was like laying in a vat of non-sinking quick sand. If she wasn't careful she might sleep through all three weeks in the bed.

She fans her fingers out against the cool silk covers, taking in a deep breath and then exhaling. She does this about three times before she lifts up off the bed and heads to her luggage corner where she pulls out a set of sleep clothes, quickly changes into them and then slips under the comfortable covers.

Almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, it's lights out.

* * *

It had been a few days since she'd settled into her hotel and Santana was finally starting to get the hang of things. She had found a listing on craigslist for a nice three bedroom apartment and two roommates looking for a third to help with the rent. She called the listed number and left a message saying she was interested in their listing. She got a frantic call back about a day later from an overly excited woman that kept ranting about Barbra Streisand, gold stars, and some chick named Mercedes. They scheduled an appointment to meet up on Tuesday of next week—of course only after Santana got the obnoxious women to stop talking and actually listen for more than three seconds. She was like an annoying fruit fly that needed to be electrocuted and completely fried.

Well, today was _the _Tuesday and Santana was ashamed to admit she was a little apprehensive about going to see the place. For one thing, what if she didn't like it and had to find another _perfect _listing? How would she be able to know if she could do that with the remaining week she had left?...It could be more than a few weeks before she found something quite as perfect. Second, the woman that called seemed like she was well off her rocker and Santana didn't have time for any loonies that had gold star shrines dedicated to Barbra Streisand. To top it all off, the diva belting in the background to a rendition of Beyonce's Listen left her partially deaf in one ear for at least thirty minutes. She was afraid she was going to get stuck in an apartment with two Broadway freaks.

It was too late for her to be having any second thoughts though as her cab pulled up to the address. Santana stepped out in a simple—in other words incredibly tight—pair of dark wash denim jeans and a red top that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. If she was going to leave an impression she might as well look hot doing it. She was at the top of the stairs and headed for the door that looked right, when it swung open out of nowhere, completely startling Santana who stutter stepped almost tripping over her own two feet.

Not cool.

Out came the green goblin dressed in a hideous all black dress with ugly pointed dance shoes and a lopsided witch hat. It took every cell in Santana's body for her not to scream and leave at the sight of every child's worst nightmare. To make things worse, _IT _was smiling at her and not saying anything. The green face paint wasn't making matters any better.

"Um, hello?" She said hesitantly, angry that of all people she had picked the crazy that was forcefully withdrawn from the hospital's top floor. It was probably in the best interest of all the other patients.

"Hello." The small brunette said cheerily. "You must be Santana, I'm Rachel," she held her...green hand out for Santana to shake. Santana only gripped the very tips of her fingers in a limp handshake.

"Come in, come in," she motioned for Santana to follow her inside. "I saw you observing my ensemble," she swept her hands across her outfit with praise. "It must have been weird being greeted by such a sight. I'm auditioning for a role in Wicked—surely you've heard of it." Of course Santana hadn't heard of it. "Anyways," Rachel continues. "I thought stepping out of my comfort zone and into a role that's more...challenging would be easier if I dressed the part and got a feel for the essence of the character—you know?"

No, she had absolutely no idea because you wouldn't see her walking around dressed like Catwoman to make her feel sexy or anything...Santana shifted uncomfortably. Okay, maybe she did but that was once. It was at a costume mixer and she was more than likely drunk—more than likely.

"Mercedes is resting right now, but she surely would have been pleased to meet you." Rachel lays it on thick.

"I'm not resting anymore, Rachel." Mercedes gripes, walking over in a pair of bugs bunny pajama bottoms and a shirt that says 'Got Tots?' across it. "Why are you so loud?" She seems genuinely incredulous, but she ignores Rachel and doesn't wait for her response, instead focusing on Santana and leaving the smaller brunette with her mouth gaping in shock.

"Hi, I'm Mercedes," she sends Santana a friendly wave and small smile. Santana immediately likes her though, she seems like the type that doesn't play games.

"I'm Santana," Santana greets, taking a look around at the bright open space and the large open windows. It was a really nice apartment with a simple design—not too fancy and not too plain. Perfect.

"Do you like it?" Rachel asks from behind her, peering over her shoulder with the biggest grin. Santana did, she really did but she wasn't going to let them know just yet. Not until she saw where she would be spending most of her time.

"It's nice," she smiles. "Can you show me the room?" She asks politely.

Mercedes perks up immediately, slapping down the JET Magazine on the kitchen counter and reaching for Santana's hand. "Yes girl, you're gonna be my hallway neighbor!" She says excitedly, pulling Santana along behind her away from the kitchen and living space, and towards the rooms.

"Wait! Mercedes, I thought we discussed that she was going to be my hallway neighbor if she decided to agree to things." Rachel calls after their retreating figures, but she gets no response when they disappear into a room and leave her behind feeling dejected.

When Santana steps foot into what might become her room, she is left gaping as Mercedes lets go of her hand. It had two floor length windows that formed a corner and a third a few ways away that gave her the best view of parts of the city. It was like a terrace inside. Mercedes began squealing when the inevitable grin lit up Santana's face.

"Is that a yes?" She half yells. Santana just nods.

It was settled. She was officially moving in.

* * *

About a week had passed and Santana had gotten settled in, having found her bed and other furniture in storage where Jesse promised it would be. In fact, it was just in time for her first meeting at BIOTECH this afternoon. She wasn't nervous so much so as she was anxious to finally begin doing what she went to college for, and that was representing a positive image for a business. She actually liked making people look good despite popular belief of her being a total bitch—which she was when the time called for it. Just not when it came to her making money. With a big corporation like BIOTECH, she could be making beau coups of money within a few years.

All she had to do was impress the big guys and not screw things up. If only she could figure out how to get her legs to work. Mercedes and Rachel promised she would do absolutely fantastic and that they would go out for celebratory drinks when she got the job. All it did was give her false hope though, and now she was in a cab on her way to what felt like her doom—what was she saying?! She was Santana MF Lopez, she was going to suck it up and impress.

Her cab had been driving quite a ways and by the time they got close to where she needed to go, traffic had slowed to a complete stop. It was absolutely ridiculous and she didn't want 'late' to be her first impression. She figured she could just walk the rest of the way if what Rachel said was right she was only a few blocks away. She handed the cab driver the right amount of cash and moved to open the door, slipping a stiletto clad foot out into the busy city.

She turned to grab her bag and collect her stuff when she felt someone collide with her door and tumble off whatever it was they were riding. Emitting a light 'oof' once they hit the ground. She was shocked to say the least.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She yelled, quickly slipping out of the taxi cab to see a helpless blonde trying to untangle herself from her bike frame. The girl immediately snapped her eyes to Santana's and blue clashed with russet brown in a swirl of curiosity. Santana would be lying if she said she had ever seen anyone quite as impressive.

"Are you seeing them too? The angels I mean?" The woman on the ground asked in a daze. Santana furrowed her brows in confusion and horror.

"Oh my god, you hit your head really hard didn't you? Ugh, I can't deal with this right now, I'm gonna be late." Santana moved away from the taxi cab and out of the road towards the woman who kept smiling at her. It was kind of creeping her out, but it was strangely...adorable. She fumbled around in her purse for her phone, quickly finding it underneath a pack of gum. She dialed 911 and waited for the tone.

_"Hello 911, what's your emergency?"_

"Yes, some crazy chick on a bike ran into my cab door. I think she might have hit her head when she fell..." Santana trailed off, glancing at the disheveled woman and her wild blonde hair that got mussed when she took a tumble. "She thought I was an angel." Santana laughed sarcastically, wondering how anyone in their right mind would think she of all people was anything like an angel, let alone an actual angel. Although maybe she was a little flattered.

Suddenly the woman rose from the ground like she had new found energy, quickly reaching for the phone and slipping it from right between Santana's fingers and interrupting her conversation. _Oh hell no. _She moved to step forward as the blonde yelled down the line for someone called 'Sam.' She stopped though, when she felt a hand on her chest—damn near close to becoming a feel.

"It's not my fault," the woman continued. Vivid eyes glanced back at hers, remaining locked until she spoke again with a playful glint in them. "She should have looked before she decided to open the door." Santana scoffed. It was all of a sudden her fault for the woman not watching where she was going. She didn't miss the smile the woman sent her which made her even angrier. "Bye Sam!" She quickly hung up the phone. Who did this girl think she was?

"Can I have my phone back now Blondie?" Santana stuck her hand out and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. But the woman just looked at her absolutely confused and frowning.

"What? My name is Brittany..." Santana couldn't believe her luck. Was this chick serious right now? She was sure her scowl had grown since the start of this debacle. The girl—Brittany—gave Santana her phone back, although she seemed hesitant to.

"I'm sorry for running into your door like that." Brittany apologized, a furious blush spreading the length of her neck and face. "And thanks for calling 911 just in case." She seemed like she was trying her best not to look embarrassed, but she was failing miserably and Santana was enjoying every bit of it.

"Yeah, whatever. Just watch where you're going next time." Santana dismissed Brittany's attempt at apologizing, finding it more interesting to look at the get up she was sporting. A tight and tiny gray tank top, that rose just above her belly button—a pierced belly button that was missing it's charm. She wore skintight biking shorts underneath loose purple and light blue running shorts. Santana smiled, this girl was so strange to her and she wondered if everyone was like this...just weird.

Santana watched Brittany fumble around with the watch on her wrist, appearing to be struggling with telling the time. She continued to watch Brittany grow frustrated by her confusion.

Eager eyes locked with hers. "Um, what time is it?" Brittany asked, taking the leg warmers off her arms and shoving them into her bag.

"A little after three, why?" Santana continues to be less than friendly.

Blue eyes widen in panic and Santana grows alarmed. "I have to go!" Brittany shouts, quickly picking up the trashed bike and tossing it into the alley right next to them. Santana only has enough time to get one last look at her before the girl goes rushing off, but not without saying goodbye to Santana.

"Bye." Santana says, only after the girl had been long gone. Now...all she needed to do was figure out how the hell she was going to get where she was going.

After some close calls with a few quarreling bums that couldn't decide who owned which street corner, and a crazy bag lady that kept calling her, her sweet peep—Santana had finally found the building. Of course, it wasn't like it was hard to spot or anything.

The minute she stepped through the swirling doors and into the main lobby she was greeted by a tall blonde wearing the tightest skirt she had ever seen. As well as a white button up blouse that was undone to show just enough skin. She immediately smiled at Santana, her eyes zoning in on brown ones.

"Hi, my name is Holly. You must be Santana." She greets.

"Hey," Santana smiles and attempts to shake hands but Holly pulls her into a hug and she immediately stiffens. Holly notices.

"Relax chica, I'm sure you'll do fine," she presses a reassuring hand into Santana's lower back, leading them both away from the lobby.

"I hope so." Santana mumbles beneath her breath.

* * *

The meeting went surprisingly well. Holly stayed with her every step of the way, introducing her to Mr. St. James—Jesse's father, and the rest of the group. Artie Abrams the technology guru, Tina Cohen-Chang the journalism/English major, and Quinn Fabray the goody goody mass comm major—Holly's words not hers—were all important people apart of the team Santana would soon be managing. Holly served as her mentor, already having worked for other huge PR firms she was going to show Santana a few of the ropes.

Then she was left alone with Jesse's father to discuss what kind of image he wanted for his corporation and Santana took note of a few things that needed to be changed, like the fact that their building was intimidating as hell and wouldn't attract any positive feedback. She could work on that though, by scheduling a few conferences with Tina and getting the name of the business out there.

Holly had extended an invitation for her to go for drinks with the rest of the group afterwards but Santana declined. She'd rather head back to her apartment early to catch a few Z's. In all the rush, she had completely worn herself out with all the nerves and anxiety about the new job. When the cab pulled up outside she collapsed into the seat, closing the door and leaning her head back against the plastic leather. All the activity outside drifted away for a little while as she gave the driver her address and they set off.

It wasn't long before Santana began to notice a commotion just outside the cab when she heard screaming and saw people running every which way, scattering into the streets and in between buildings.

"What's going on?" She pressed up the against the plastic partition separating her from the driver.

"I don' know. Do I look like I know what's goin' on?" He dismissed angrily. Santana was seething.

"Now hold up, scarface. No need to get all up in my grill. All-"

The driver opened his door, quickly stepping out of the cab and out front into the street like a few other curios onlookers. Santana was just fine staying inside _away_ from danger.

That is until she saw the big dome of unnatural blue light headed her way and approaching fast.

**Thanks for reading! This update was a little longer. I can't promise anything for a while though (which is like three weeks tops). :(**


	3. Aftermath

A/N: It's short but I'm posting a little early. Here you go...

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters. Nothing! RIB have laid claim.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Aftermath**

Why did it feel like Armageddon every time she tried to move? And _why _couldn't she see anything? It was like eternal darkness no matter how hard she tried to open her eyes. What made things worse was the incessant beeping echoing in her ears that caused little pings of pain with each one.

Beep.

Beep.

_Beep! _She grimaced at the pain, trying to move her hands to press to her head but she was stopped by the restraints wrapped around her wrists. She still couldn't see anything.

"Oh thank heavens! She's awake." Brittany could hear some commotion and then she felt warm hands caress her forehead.

"Hush up woman, she has to rest!" Wally's voice rang clear and rough.

"Walter Marie Jameson! I am your wife and you will not talk to me in that way." She wore the pants alright. Wally grumbled under his breath. Something about "you didn't have to go saying my government name and all." She could just imagine the look on his face like that of a reprimanded child.

Brittany tried to move again but this time searing pain shot up both her arms and down her back. She cried out in agony, not expecting the wind to get knocked out of her just from moving.

"Don't struggle hon, the doctor said you have to relax." Lisa soothed.

"Pssh, how the hell is she supposed to relax strapped to that bed like some crazy!?" Wally protested. That's what they were, those things wrapped around her wrists. Brittany began to panic because she still couldn't see but she could hear just fine so it's not like she was asleep or anything.

"Lisa?" The panic leached into her voice. "I can't see—why am I in so much pain?" The equipment at the side of the bed went ballistic, the heart monitor picking up speed as the lights in the room surged and flickered. Little beads of sweat began to collect on Brittany's forehead and she felt like she was on fire and the flames were licking at the tips of her fingers.

"Could you get these off me?" Brittany turned her head to where she thought Lisa might be since she couldn't see.

"Brittany...I can't. The doctor said it would be best if you were restrained...Just in ca—" Lisa was interrupted when the door to Brittany's hospital room burst open and strange men in pure untouched white coats came rushing in.

"Step back, Ms." One man instructed tersely.

Something was building at the pit of Brittany's stomach that she couldn't describe any better than it felt like fire building within her. The feeling intensified, shooting up her torso and slithering down her arms leaving behind an icy cold sensation, like the fire had been super cooled. She jerked against her restraints, snapping them like measly weakened twigs.

Immediately her hands went to her face, coming in contact with what felt like thick gauze circling all the way around her head and effectively preventing her from seeing. She pulled against the thickly wrapped mesh of bandages.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you ma'am." Brittany heard one of the mysterious men warn her. In all the commotion she hadn't noticed how quiet it had gotten in the room at the sight of her snapping patent leather restraints like it was no big deal. The occupants in the room had become incredibly cautious of the scene unfolding before them. Almost like they were walking on a burning bridge and needed to tread lightly. She was confused.

"Why? I-I can't see anything. Can I at least take them off so I can see?" She was desperate for answers that no one would provide.

She got no answer for a while, like they were contemplating taking the bandages off or not.

"We need to keep them on for at least a week. You came in pretty damaged Ms. Pierce and we don't want to risk you permanently losing your sight by subjecting your weak eyes to harsh sunlight—"

He continued to explain her situation, as Wally and Lisa sat off to the side consoling each other as the looks of confusion, agony, pain, and horror all crossed Brittany's face at some point. Things were slowly coming back to her.

_"Ma'am! Can you hear me? Nod your head or make any movements so I can know." Brittany could just barely wiggle her fingers and she hoped that was enough. _

_"Good, good." The EMT breathed out. "My name's David Karofsky. Can you tell me your name?" Brittany felt cold fingers prodding at her neck, probably checking her pulse. She opened her mouth to talk, but she felt too weak to say anything so it came out as more of a squeak. "Br-" Coughs wracked her body and the pain soon followed, eating her attempt at talking up because she screamed out in pain. "Brittany." She squeezed out. "Brittany Pierce."_

_"David! Is she okay?" Brittany heard another voice that sounded oddly like Sam's._

_"Yeah." He said, smiling at a barely conscious Brittany whose eyes began to droop. "It looks like your gonna live Brittany." Then everything went black._

_"Ma'am?" Who was calling her._

"Ma'am?" The doctor was trying to get her attention._  
_

"Yeah," she turned to where she thought he might be based on where she heard his voice coming from.

"You understand that you need to remain in this hospital on bed rest so we can monitor your vitals? You were knocking on death's door. It's a miracle David and Sam got to you in time." That peeked her interest.

"Sam." She piped up. "Sam Evans? Where is he?" She moved to get out of bed but something pulled at her arms.

"Don't move Miss. Yanking those out might do more damage than what has already been done," he motioned to the wires and needles she was hooked up to. Of course she couldn't see what he was doing though.

"But do you understand?" He was referring to staying at the hospital.

"Yes I understand," she nodded quickly grimacing in pain when the action caused her head to swim.

"Now you need to rest those injuries. Three broken ribs and a shattered clavicle don't just heal in a day." He tried to be funny but it just...wasn't.

He continued. "It's odd how quickly you've healed though. Your body seems to be speeding up it's internal processes on it's own. I've never..." He paused dumbfounded. "I've never seen something so _remarkable_ in such a short amount of time." He breathes out.

Wait, how long has she been here then?

"How long have I been here?" She voices her thoughts.

"Hmm...about two weeks." He remains calm but Brittany panics.

"Two weeks! Are you telling me that I've been in this hospital bed for—_1,2,3...she counts off in her head_—fourteen days!?"

"Now, calm down. Some trauma patients like you don't wake up for months, which is why you seem so _special." _He paused and Brittany wasn't sure if he had left or not until she heard him again.

"We're going to keep you on bed rest a little longer, and I need you to lay back and relax okay. Can you do that for me?" Brittany immediately nodded, once again causing her head to swim.

"Um, where's Mr. and Mrs. Jameson?" Brittany asked, wondering why she hadn't heard them talking for a while.

"They told me to tell you they'd be back later today and that you needed your rest."

"Okay," Brittany leaned back against the stiff hospital bed. Trying to calm her thoughts and focus on anything she could remember from what happened but she kept coming up blank. The click of the door let her know her doctor had left. That's when everything hit her, Brittany had been attacked—she was sure of it. That package was meant for her and she didn't know _why._

* * *

She had woken up abruptly. A cold sweat chilling her blood and heightening her senses. There was so much _noise. _All of it was so in her head that she couldn't sleep or shut her eyes for more than a minute. Brittany shifted on the hospital bed, the scratch of its rough sheets irritating her skin beyond what it normally would. Almost like her touch had become sensitized to the smallest of things. She ran the tips of her fingers along her arms, finding no harsh wires hooked up to her or any restraints holding her back.

Swiftly, almost ghost-like she got up on her feet and swept across the room with the lightest of footsteps. Despite not being able to see, it felt like she could predetermine where something might be in her way.

She could _hear _it. The heavy click clack of someone's heels, the shuffling of papers, the ticking of the clock somewhere on a wall in her room. She could _hear _everything that was going on around her and she needed to get away from it immediately. She was leaving—tonight. Finding a wall and slowly using it to feel her way around the room, Brittany quickly found a set of clothes. Changing out of the flimsy hospital robe and into a comfortable pair of sweats and a top that was a little too small, Brittany was all set to go. Slipping into a pair of sneakers, Brittany moved for the door but stopped.

She needed to figure out how to get out without being noticed. Her hands immediately flew to the bandages wrapped snugly around her eyes_—_they needed to come off and they needed to come off now. Tortuously the bandages came off layer by layer until Brittany's heart couldn't speed up any quicker. She hesitated at the last few wraps of mesh, wondering if taking them off when they were obviously there for a reason was such a good idea...too late now. The roll of bandages fell to the floor as Brittany waited for her eyes to adjust. The room was pitch black and the only source of light was the small sliver coming through at the bottom of her door. She hesitated to turn the handle but time waits for no one, so she collected her wits and pulled the door open only to reel back in pain when her eyes were bombarded by flecks of light that felt like knives stabbing into her corneas.

She fell back against the cold floor, her hands flying up to her mouth to stifle the cry of pain that shook from her throat. Hopefully no one had heard. Unfortunately half of Manhattan could have heard her cry and Brittany knew someone was quickly approaching when the foreign beating of a racing heart could be heard just down the hall. She shuffled across the floor_—_still on her back_—_behind the heavy wooden door just as the white rubber soles of someone came rushing in. The squeaking of rubber against cold linoleum grew irritating and Brittany was contemplating just revealing herself so the noise would stop until she heard someone crackle in over a two way.

"_Just leave her be...she'll be back." _What? She pushed her body further into the corner as fear consumed her. The squeaking got louder and then progressively grew more distant as the person left the room. Brittany quickly slipped out from behind the door. There was no way she was going to be able to walk out in the harsh hospital lights without destroying her eyes, and she needed out of this place. Like _now!_ Things were a little too...bright. She needed to concentrate, concentrate hard and figure out what she could do. It's not like she had shades lying around anywhere.

Her eyebrows furrowed as something_—_a _feeling__—_settled into her stomach and quickly spread to her fingers. The lights outside her door flickered and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was causing it. She concentrated harder, the furrowing of her eyebrows forming a single crease. The lights quickly cut off, stunning Brittany completely. It had to have just been a coincidence. Right? Wrong.

She slipped out into the hallway that was just barely lit by the street lamps littered outside the building. The hall was fairly empty save for a few panicked nurses requesting help with the back up generator. She turned her head to look left down the empty hall where the powered down exit sign could be seen just above a set of double doors. She immediately headed that way, slipping past unsuspecting nurses who couldn't see in the dark quite like she could. Maybe her eyes had become accustomed to it. No matter, she didn't have time to worry about why she had super vision in pitch darkness.

Quickly shoving through the doors and down the flight of stairs leading to the alley behind the hospital, Brittany was suddenly hit by all the noises. Honking car horns, barking dogs, crying babies, yelling families. It all crashed into her ears and she felt like her head was going to explode. After taking the last step off the stairwell, Brittany cradled her ears, fingers digging into the sides of her head in hopes that it would lessen the pain of all the sounds. She staggered for a few seconds before she heard it.

A panicked scream and a racing heart_—_that definitely wasn't her own. It was literally just around the corner from her.

"Somebody help me!" They screamed helplessly. What was she supposed to do? Someone was being attacked and Brittany knew it. She couldn't just not do anything about it and it's not like she could call 911 without a phone. Although it's ironic how someone was getting attacked outside a hospital. Not the funny kind of irony either.

She slid along the corner, peeking her head around the side only to see someone holding a gun to a helpless woman's head.

"Please don't cause me any harm. I couldn't possibly perform with bruises from a mugging." The hysterical voice paused. Rachel!? Brittany soon realized whose voice it was. "Although this might be something interesting to put in my memoir." Rachel continues.

"Ugh! Shut up lady! I've been listening to you scream and talk for the past five minutes. Give me your stuff!" Brittany takes another peek around the corner and the man shoves Rachel harder into the brick wall as she cries out.

"I've already informed you that all I have are candles," she struggles against the harsh grip of the man's black gloved hands. "And I'm not giving you my candles!" She yells indignantly.

"I don't want your damn _candles _lady! Give me your money!" He presses the tip of the gun to Rachel's head, finger unsteady on the trigger. Brittany needed to think of something fast. Her entire right arm had been shaking uncontrollably since the beginning of the ordeal.

"Oh for Barbra's sake! I've already told you numerous times that I don't currently have any money on my person. What don't you_—" _She stops talking abruptly when the man raises the gun straight to her head, stepping back and preparing to fire. Now is Brittany's chance if she's going to do something but she doesn't know how to go about it. He presses down on the trigger and everything slows down as Brittany rushes out from behind the corner, shooting her right arm up.

"Wait!" She yells out, watching on in complete shock as an intense feeling that feels just like the fire licking at her fingers in the hospital shoots up her arm and super cools. A blue..._bolt _of..._electricity _shoots out from the palm of her hand, completely knocking the gun out of the unsuspecting mugger's hand just before he could hurt Rachel. He reels back, pulling his hand to his chest as pieces of scalded flesh fall from his fingers. Gross.

He screams his head off but quickly passes out from the immense pain. Rachel just stands there stock still, shocked at what she's just seen. Then suddenly her eyes flick to Brittany's and she's running_—_running full force straight towards Brittany. Rachel slams into her, wrapping her arms around her shaking body in a death lock.

"You beautiful, beautiful person. You saved me! Oh, and my candles_—_you saved my candles!" Brittany doesn't hug back, afraid that the same hands that just blew that man's hand off might hurt Rachel. Instead she just stands rigid and lets Rachel do all the talking. _  
_

"Oh goodness. I was just coming to visit you until that criminal showed up. I was going to light these candles," she holds up two large cylindrical white candles in both her hands. "In hopes that you might wake up sooner with some coaxing from soothing honeysuckle." Brittany can't _believe _what just happened. As Rachel pulls back, Brittany stares down at the tiny sparks jumping from her fingertips. The smile slowly leaves Rachel's face.

"Brittany?" Rachel questions. "How did you do that?" Rachel was just realizing how surreal the situation was. "And why are you out of the hospital?" Brittany doesn't say anything, she looks up at Rachel's frightened but mostly curious brown eyes. She shakes her head, blue eyes coating with un-shed tears. Rachel just nods.

"Oh." A small smile crosses her features before she goes limp and passes out. Brittany has just enough time to wrap her arms around her tiny frame and catch her before she hits the ground.

* * *

God, whoever said carrying people shorter than you was easy lied, because Rachel felt like Lord Tubbington multiplied by three hundred. Not to mention her current state of unconsciousness practically made her dead weight. Brittany, despite her many years of experience with ware on the body from being a courier and dancing for the better part of her life, was struggling to keep the tiny brunette in her arms and not tumbling down the stairs. Although now that she thought about it, it would be kind of funny_—_Rachel's unconscious body flopping down the stairs. It's not like it would hurt or anything because she was sure that Rachel was a descendant of Frodo and he was like... indestructible.

What made things worse was that she was anxious about the feeling that kept surging to the tips of her fingers. She couldn't afford for anything to happen while trying to _help_ Rachel_—_like completely frying her Frodo crispy...

Brittany trips up the last step onto Rachel's floor. She is careful to set Rachel's still incoherent body down at the front door painted red and chipping just beneath the cast iron '16 B.' She knocks a few times and turns, heading for the stairs when she is sure that someone heard. Just before she turns the corner onto the stairs heading up to her apartment she sees the door swing open and Rachel's body plop through the threshold.

As she approaches her door, everything from the past few hours_—heck _the past few weeks hits her and the small vein on the left side of her head begins to pulsate and throb just like every time her nerves get the best of her. She reaches under the welcome mat that says 'wipe your paws here' and pulls out the spare key. Just as she stumbles through her door, barely able to pull the key out, she passes out on the rough carpet a few feet shy of the couch.

**P.S Sorry no post-apocalypse for all the InFamous fans out there. :(**


	4. Trouble

A/N:...This is sooo late. I'm SO sorry, I've been feeling like crap this week because of tryouts but now that I can walk up and down the stairs properly I've been able to get on the computer. Anyways, here it is. A little longer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or it's characters.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Trouble**

Santana sits bolt upright in fright as chills leach down her spine. Memories of what had happened just over two weeks ago still terrorized her in her dreams. News of "the blast" had spread quickly across all major news outlets, including ones outside of New York.

"Sources have yet to identify the person who was at the center of this catastrophe, but some are worried this isn't the last New York will see of trouble." The anchor on TV droned on about news that had been a hot topic for days.

Just yesterday she had received a call from Mr. St. James telling her not to come in for the next week until a few things were 'sorted out.' Whatever the hell that meant, she wasn't one to complain about a break. Especially after what happened to her that afternoon of her first day.

_Santana's head was throbbing like nobody's business. She could literally feel it pulsing if she put her hand up to it—and what was that godforsaken noise in her left ear? The ringing like alarm bells wouldn't stop torturing her left eardrum and her fingers felt like there were little paper cuts all over them. She peered down and saw the shards of glass littered across the floor that had cut up her fingers. _

_Why were there broken pieces of glass on the_—

___"Hey! Are you okay?" A gruff voice interrupted through the destroyed window of her taxi cab._

___"Yeah__—_" She paused, her voice sounded so rough and scratchy. "Yeah, I'm fine." Maybe she'd spoken too soon because no less than two minutes later she was up and out of the taxi as the contents of her stomach came tumbling out on the sidewalk. She could hear herself retching in the dead silence and it was embarrassing. When her stomach had quit disagreeing with her she pulled out a tissue from her bag to wipe her mouth. Popping in a stick of gum and chewing, Santana turned to survey her surroundings. There wasn't major damage except for maybe every window for a few hundreds miles was completely blown out and their remnants littered the sidewalk and street down below. 

___There were a few people in the streets here and there that had been knocked out like she had. _

___She felt something warm trickle down her forehead and when she reached up to swipe at it her fingers came back coated with blood. Apparently the reason why her head had been swimming so violently was because she'd taken a major blow to it. Her stomach was still unsettled as she heaved again at the sight of so much blood. Going to the hospital was not an option because ever since she was a child, Santana had an irrational fear of doctors and the white walls of a hospital. Despite the fact that the halls always smelled like cleaning supplies they were harbors for disease. Besides flu shots and check ups Santana stayed out of the hospital as a child and her father would just simply tell her to suck it up when she'd fall and scratch herself up._

___Somehow, by the grace of God she had made it back to the apartment that was surprisingly the least damaged out of all the places she had passed. Her bloodied face, once cleaned, was simply a small cut that followed her hairline but bled heavily. By the time Rachel's panicked voice came barreling through the front door and Mercedes came right behind her, Santana's eyes had closed and she had passed out on her bed._

From then until now Santana could only remember bits and pieces of what had happened as she slipped in and out of consciousness. She'd wake up and hear Rachel on the phone panicking and asking for someone called Brittany and then getting angry when no one would respond. Then her eyes would droop again and she'd pass out for a few more hours.

The next time she'd wake up with Mercedes rubbing a cold washcloth across her forehead and ridding it of dried blood. She would hear the loud sirens rushing past her building, more than likely headed to the site of "the blast" as everyone liked to refer to it as. Then she would pass out again after forcing down a bottle of water or two and only a few crackers to stay nourished.

It had been a few weeks since then and Santana still had a small headache but not half as bad as what it once was. Last night she had answered the door and found Rachel passed out and leaning against the door frame. Mercedes had woken up and rushed to the door at the sound of Santana's uncharacteristic squeal, holding a bat above her head and sporting a murderous look. When they tried to get Rachel to talk about what happened she was beyond incoherent, mumbling something about someone trying to take her stupid candles and how she was miraculously saved by 'the heroine' that had come out of the shadows. Bullshit, and Santana called her out on it but Rachel was persistent and refused to believe what happened to her wasn't real. Then again, strange things were happening lately.

About as soon as Santana's eyes had opened from sleep and she had gone out into the living room to find Mercedes cooking pancakes and behaving normally like Manhattan hadn't just been attacked, Rachel was up and as lively as a jack rabbit. She was rushing and grabbing a bunch of crap, like extra blankets, water bottles, and socks.

"What the hell is she doing?" Santana was hoping Mercedes would know, but all she was given was a confused shrug.

"Where are you going, Broadway?" Santana griped as Rachel continued to flit from place to place, picking up random items and shoving them in a huge black duffle bag.

"If you must know Santana," Rachel paused, stopping to eye a few boxes of dots on the counter before she rested her arm behind them and swiped every last one into the duffle bag. "I'm going to see a man about a dog." Rachel continued, her eyes flicking everywhere but directly at Santana. Santana screwed her face up at that. Rachel was a horrible liar.

"What?" Santana chalked up her confusion to the minor concussion she attained yesterday, but Rachel wasn't making a lick of sense.

"I have a few prior arrangements to...attend to. A friend that hasn't been feeling too well." She continues to count off lies and the horrible attempt at a nonchalant smile gives Rachel away.

Santana sighs, rubbing at her throbbing temples. "Look Rachel, if you're trying to sneak away for a bootycall with Finnoncence just say so. I mean, you don't have to sneak around." Mercedes cackles from the kitchen as she flips a pancake and Santana smirks. It was fun making fun of Rachel because she always reacted. She couldn't just ignore it like normal people would.

Rachel huffs indignantly, readjusting the strap of the duffle bag on her shoulder and opening her mouth to rebut Santana's insult but she closes it abruptly turning on her heel and heading for the door, leaving Santana completely shocked.

Rachel was out of the door before Mercedes could offer her a plate full of pancakes which Santana gladly accepted in Rachel's absence.

* * *

Brittany can hear the loud banging even before her eyes are fully opened. She jolts awake and immediately feels the stiffness that has overcome her body due to her passing out on the carpet the night before. A plush blanket—since when had that gotten there—is wrapped around her shoulders. Tina probably covered her up the night before, having gotten used to Brittany stumbling in at all hours of the night and passing out before she could get to bed.

Red and orange early morning rays filter in through the slits in Brittany's curtains. She lifts her head up and the impression from the rough carpet is left all along the left side of her face in red angry blotches. She has just enough time to get up on her feet before someone bangs through the front door. Brittany is startled when Rachel rushes into the living room and plops a big black duffle bag down on the worn cushions of her couch. Immediately Rachel starts rifling through it in search of something Brittany isn't sure of.

"Brittany," Rachel pauses and looks directly at her for the first time since she barged in. "I believe I know what you are." She stares at Brittany for a long time for dramatic affect then she shakes her head as she goes back to rifling through her bag.

"I'm Brittany." Brittany mumbles confusedly. Rachel just laughs and shakes her head again.

"No, Brittany not that. You have powers, therefore you're a superhero." Well duh, if the bolt of electricity that shot through Brittany's hand was any sign of that. Brittany rolled her eyes at Rachel's antics. She plopped down next to the bag on her couch.

"But I don't wanna be a superhero." Brittany states simply. Rachel stops shuffling through her bag and pulls out a big thick leather bound book with yellowing pages.

"May I ask why not?" Rachel flips open to the first page.

"Superheroes don't always get a happy ending. I'm just...Brittany." Brittany sighs. Rachel snaps her head up at Brittany's gloomy tone, different from her normally bubbly attitude.

"Don't say that. You don't know that." Rachel tries to reassure her as she skims over the worn article in her lap.

"I was perusing the news archives at the library," Rachel pauses, running her hands over the partially faded words in newsprint. "And I found something peculiar," she sits next to Brittany on the couch and sets the book down across both their laps.

"It's an article from a few decades ago. It documents the happenings of an event that are scary similar to what happened a few weeks ago. I tried looking for relating topics but kept coming up blank or with an access denied."

Brittany takes the book out of Rachel's lap to get a closer look. "So this isn't the first time something like this has happened?" Brittany questions Rachel hoping that she'll have all the answers.

"No, it most definitely is not. But...it's weird."

"Why is it weird?" Brittany asks distractedly as she starts digging through the black duffle bag and spots the yellow corner of a box of dots sticking out.

"Well..." Rachel pauses unsure if she wants to reveal what happened in fear that she might upset Brittany. "The guy—whatever his name was, he disappeared a few weeks after what went down." Rachel waits for Brittany's reaction.

Brittany tears open the box of dots, opening the bag and pushing a green thimble shaped candy through her pink lips. She waits expectantly for Rachel to continue but Rachel doesn't say anything else, instead she keeps staring at Brittany.

"What?" Brittany questions simply.

"Brittany! Did you not just hear what I said? This guy mysteriously disappeared, completely unexplained and undocumented." She flails her arms and she kind of reminds Brittany of a screeching bird. She knew there was a reason why she didn't really talk to Rachel all that much. She was always so loud.

"So, does that mean I can turn invincible?" She pops another candy into her mouth and begins chewing away.

"Invisible, Brittany—and no! I mean, what!?" Rachel frowns.

"Well, you said he disappeared and nobody knew what happened to him. Maybe it was just that nobody could see him. Somehow he turned himself off and couldn't figure out how to make himself visible again." Brittany tries to explain to Rachel. Rachel doesn't say anything, actually contemplating if what Brittany said was plausible, quickly ridding her mind of such thoughts and continuing to stare at Brittany with a perplexed look on her face.

"Yeah," Brittany nods. Rachel shakes her head and reaches for the remote on the coffee table, quickly flicking on the television and turning to the news.

"Listen, Brittany." Rachel leaves the TV going as she turns towards Brittany who was in the middle of placing the book back into the duffle bag. "I have no clue why you were out of the hospital and I don't know why you can summon energy from your hands but you need to stay low. Under the ra—"

"_This just in." _The news anchor speaking from the TV sounded frantic. _"News of who was at the center of the blast just reached our studio."_ There was a pregnant pause as the anchor pressed his fingers up against his earpiece to better hear what he was being told. Rachel's eyes bugged out of her head.

_"Street camera footage of an unidentified blonde female was sent to us from an anonymous source a few minutes ago."_ Just as he says this, a pixel riddled video feed plays across the screen and it shows Brittany struggling to keep hold of the rumbling box in her hands. Of course no one else knows it's Brittany besides Brittany and the people that personally know her because the footage is shot from an angle where you can't see her face, only her back and the box held out in front of her. It helps that the quality of the video is grainy.

_"Apparently after the blast she was taken to an inner city hospital, Hope Medical Center. But get this...after nurses had come to check on her they found the bed empty and her change of clothes missing." _Suddenly the picture on the screen began to flicker fading in and out of visibility. Rachel looked around frantically searching for what might be causing the power surge, not taking into consideration that her friend sitting right next to her was practically an open fuse. Brittany tried to stop the weird feeling that always built in her chest and spread to the tips of her fingers when she got nervous. Rachel shrieked and Brittany jumped, startled.

"What's wrong?" Brittany squeezed out as she struggled against the rising feeling. Brittany's eyes, they had an eerie glow—not overwhelming like a flashlight—but almost like someone had lit a match that burned blue behind her eyes and the flame was dying out. There was still a distinct difference between her pupils and her irides though. A small ring of sparks surrounded the outer ring of her pupils and it literally looked like her eyes were an open socket.

"Y—your eyes, Brittany. They're glowing." This was the first time Rachel had ever been short for words in her entire life.

Brittany rose from the couch, quickly walking to the bathroom and turning on the light, dimming it down low so it didn't destroy her were still a little sensitive from earlier. She gasped at what she saw in the mirror, but then she began smiling and laughing. She thought she looked badass. She closed her eyes shut tight and concentrated on getting the buzz feeling to go away and then she opened them again, the glow having disappeared.

She went back out into the living room with a cheshire grin on her face. Rachel was again left confused.

"Why, might I ask, are you grinning so?"

"Oh...nothing." Brittany kept smiling.

* * *

The magazine currently in Santana's hands fell from her grasp when she saw the woman in the footage holding onto the rattling box. She would know that outfit and lively golden hair from anywhere. It was the girl on the bike that had run into her cab door. She turned the volume up on the TV and listened intently.

_"Apparently after the blast she was taken to an inner city hospital, Hope Medical Center____—"_ Santana stopped listening there because that was the exact hospital Rachel had rambled on about when she'd woken up after falling through the door the night before. The exact same hospital where Rachel had been rescued by a mysterious heroine. The same damn hospital that had checked in the woman from the blast.

"Mercedes!" Santana yelled from the couch.

"What?" Mercedes yelled back as she opened her door and came out into the living room.

"Who was Rachel going to see yesterday?" She turned her head to look over the back of the couch at Mercedes.

"Um, some girl that lives in our apartment building actually, why?" She frowned at Santana's random question.

"Nothing..." Santana's eyebrows pulled together in thought, but then she was interrupted by the door opening and Rachel waltzing in.

"Hey." She greeted tiredly, shoving the strap of the duffle bag off her shoulder and letting it plop on the floor.

"Hey." Santana and Mercedes both said in unison.

"That was quick. Finn must have had some bad milk." Santana turned her nose up mocking Rachel's self-obsessed boyfriend.

Rachel frowned, confused at why Santana was talking about Fi___—Oh!_ "Yeah he wasn't feeling too well." Rachel went along with it so that they wouldn't get suspicious.

"Gross," Santana turned back to the TV to flick through more channels.

* * *

Brittany had been flitting around her apartment for the past hour, looking for things to practice on. Old pillows, pieces of broken down cardboard boxes that she had yet to recycle, and other odd things lying around like the hideous desk lamp Rachel got her last Christmas. It was a tacky hot pink lamp with a forest green lamp shade. Apparently she'd gotten it from a mixer with the rest of her colleagues after a big show.

Brittany picked up the lamp, set it down on the kitchen counter and took a few steps back. First she shooed Lord Tubbington away and he ran to her room, then she rose her left arm, lifted her hand and waited for the feeling to come. In no time the tingling of cooled flames reached the tips of her fingers and she set her sights on the lamp, focusing in on it and aiming. She surged forward and the tingling in the tips of her fingers intensified to the point of exploding and the lamp shattered to a million tiny ugly pink and green pieces. Then immediately she swept her arm to the right and honed in on the stack of worn pillows resting helplessly in the center of her living room. One well placed bolt demolished the pillows and stray plush feathers fell from the ceiling and littered the floor. Brittany pulled her hand back and peered at her palm that looked completely unaffected.

She started laughing and she's sure if anyone were to walk in and see her grinning maniacally, surrounded by the mess of glass and raining feathers, they'd admit her.

The screen on her home phone lights up and the ring soon follows. She snatches it off the receiver, placing it in the crook of her neck to hold up to her ear while she takes graceful steps towards the kitchen.

"Hi! This is Brittany!" She greets cheerily and waits for whoever is on the other side of the line to talk.

"Hey, Brittany it's Sam. I wanted to check on you. I was going to come see you this morning but the woman at the front desk told me you had been discharged the night before."

"Yeah. The doctor said I was healing up really quick, so I could go home whenever I wanted." Brittany knows she sounds like she's lying but hopefully Sam wouldn't notice. It's strange though, if she remembered correctly—which she did—then she had left the hospital without being formally discharged. She had escaped in the middle of the night actually. Things were just progressively getting weirder.

"Well since you seem to be feeling better.." Sam trails off, sounding hesitant like he needed to get something off his chest.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out for drinks with me and a couple friends at around eight." Brittany looks at the clock, seeing that it reads 4:30 PM. She doesn't really know what to say, she literally just got out of the hospital a few hours ago after having been blown up. On top of that she had these strange powers to deal with and keep hidden so that people wouldn't start getting suspicious.

"You know! To celebrate your fast recovery." Sam quickly adds, and when Brittany still doesn't say anything he continues, pleading down the phone for her to go.

"Please, Brittany. It's going to be so dry without you there to tear up the place." This goes on for about another three minutes until Brittany finally agrees to go. It's probably for the best that she keep her mind off things for a while.

When he hangs up, she sets the phone back on the receiver and heads to the cabinet, pulling out a tall glass and walking over to the sink. She turns on the tap and sets the glass underneath it. Brittany brings the tip of the glass to her lips but quickly lets it slip from her fingers and clatter to the floor when the water currently slithering down her throat feels like its frying her from the inside. She starts choking on her own spit and and can't breathe for all of a minute before she gasps in deeps breaths, clutching helplessly at the collar of her shirt.

She goes to the fridge to pull out one of the cold bottles of water that Rachel had brought over. They're all labeled with a bright red 'DISTILLED,' and the bottle she picks up has a small sticky note on it written in Rachel's curly scrawl. It read:

_"Brittany. Don't drink from the tap, drink these. You can find them at the 7-11. If I'm correct, which I most definitely am, then you should be fine. Oh! Also, don't take a bath, only showers. Please sustain from damaging yourself." _

_—Love, Rach ;)__  
_

Brittany reads over the note one more time, peeling it off and sticking it to the fridge as a reminder. Then she unscrews the cap on the bottle of distilled water, bringing the tip to her pink lips and tilting it back so the icy liquid can flow down her throat. Rachel was right, it didn't feel half as bad as the glass of water from the tap did. Maybe like a small case of heartburn but not like she was going to choke and stop breathing.

Now, if she could just get out of these clothes and clean off without completely electrocuting herself.

* * *

Well, the shower had been...eventful. Brittany spent half the time worried if standing under the flowing droplets of water would kill her and when she decided to just throw herself under the stream all at once it was definitely a bad idea. The water felt like huge needles were prickling at her skin, but she could suffer through it for about 10 minutes—enough to lather up some soap and rinse off—before she had to get out and dry herself off.

The minute she had stepped out of the shower her knees buckled beneath her and she toppled to the floor, feeling completely drained all of a sudden. Not like the dehydrated lacking water kind of drained, but the bone tired lacking _life _kind of drained. Brittany could just barely wrap the towel around her body and crawl out into the hall. Using the wall as support, she shimmied up the side of it, leaning heavily onto it as she slid through the hall. She stumbled into her room, tripping over her own two feet and just barely catching herself by gripping the side of the TV. Suddenly a surge of energy rushed through Brittany's fingers and the electricity from the TV was flowing into her arm like she had absorbed all the stored energy from it.

The longer she held on the more alive she felt and slowly she was able to stand on her feet with some ounce of stability. Lord Tubbington sat curled up in a big ball of fur at the foot of her bed, swishing his tail from side to side curiously, eyes sharp and focused on Brittany.

"Hey, Tubbs. I'm not doing so good huh." She laughs at herself, slowly making her way towards her dresser where she pulls out a pair of tight dark wash jeans, and the small pin necklace she always has around her neck. Then she makes her way to her closet where she takes a low cut deep blue top off the hanger.

Brittany undoes her ponytail and runs her fingers through partially wet hair, loosening the tangles and letting it billow down around her shoulders. She peers at the gummy bear clock sitting on her bedside table, it reads 7:30 PM and she has about thirty minutes until she has to meet Sam and his friends for drinks. It's at a big club just a few minutes walk down the street.

Brittany tried to call Tina but she wasn't picking up. She thought maybe she'd stayed the night over at Mike's apartment and would be back tomorrow. Her and Tina shared an apartment together and Tina was usually out late like Brittany, so most of the time both of them weren't at the apartment.

She slips on a pair of black heels and says goodbye to Lord Tubbington as she picks up her leather coat off the back of the couch and heads for the door, closing and locking it after herself.

As she's heading down the stairs, Rachel's apartment door opens and out steps the beautiful brunette Brittany had just so happen to run into while delivering the package. The girl looks absolutely amazing in a simple pair of sweats and and a loose T-shirt that had 'Cheerio' written across the front. She must really like that honey cereal, Brittany thought. Once she comes off the last step, their eyes finally meet and swirling russet brown eyes clash with ineffable azure ones. Brittany smiles, stopping at the bottom step.

"Hey." Brittany barely whispers out, waving an awkward hand.

"Uh, hey." Santana responds, frowning at Brittany's strange behavior as she heads for the stairs, slipping the keys to her apartment into her sweatpants.

Santana is halfway down the stairs before she hears a small 'wait.' She stops at the very last step and turns around, an unimpressed hand resting on her hip.

"What's your name?" Brittany asks, cheeks flushed angry and red with embarrassment. She felt like the one kid that was always playing alone in the sandbox at recess. The tingling starts up again and her nerves only get worse. She has to clutch her fingers behind her back to keep them from shaking.

"Santana." Curt and simple. With that Santana is gone, disappearing around the corner into the night. A stupid grin spreads across Brittany's face as she familiarizes with Santana's name, rolling it around in her mouth and letting it come off her tongue.

"Santana." She sighs.

* * *

Brittany makes her way through the crowd and heads to the bar, quickly spotting a blonde head of shaggy hair that's definitely Sam's. She orders something to drink, not with the intention of drinking anything but in an attempt to occupy her time. Just as the bartender slides her a drink with an annoying green olive at the bottom—the olives always made her feel like she was going to swallow an eyeball—Sam spots her and waves her over. She heads further down the bar towards him and finally sees who all he invited. Mercedes, Rachel, Kurt, Blaine, the medic from the ambulance whose name she can't remember, Tina, and Mike. She smiles kindly, giving everyone a hug and Rachel a particularly long one for her sweet sticky note.

"Hey...?" She trails off, directing her greeting at the guy from the ambulance.

"David." He smiles and Brittany nods her head in recognition.

"Excuse us, me and my lady are going to dance." Mike interrupts, sweeping a slightly tipsy Tina from her stool and out onto the dance floor. Brittany smiles at how cute they are together.

"So, David here was just talking about how well you were doing when the ambulance came." Sam starts, Brittany cringes.

David pauses, a little stunned that Sam wanted to talk about potentially one of the more traumatic events in Brittany's life.

"Yeah, you were responding well and you didn't pass out...immediately. You did by the time the ambulance came though." David notes awkwardly. Brittany just nods, taking a stiff seat on the stool next to Rachel who has been glued to her phone the entire time.

"Although you did keep mumbling about an angel with nice legs and stilettos." David smirks, throwing a knowing look at Brittany. The rest just seem confused.

Sam turns back to the bar to order another drink.

"Brittany, girl, what happened to your arm?" Mercedes asks. Almost immediately Rachel's attention turns towards Brittany who is slowly looking over the purple bruises that litter the fair skin on her arm.

"I don't know." Brittany hadn't seen them earlier today, it's like they'd come from nowhere.

"Maybe I slept on it wrong." She knows she doesn't sound quite so sure. Rachel definitely notices because her eyes don't leave Brittany's fingers as they continue to trace over the bruises.

Unsure questioning browns eyes lock with confused blue until someone coughs, interrupting the moment.

"Excuse me miss," Some guy with oily slicked back hair and a bad five o' clock shadow leans between Rachel and Brittany, boring lecherous hazel eyes over Brittany's long legs.

"I noticed that you were all alone," He runs a meaty hand through greasy hair, wiping it off on his shirt when he realizes all the junk that comes back on his hand. Brittany sighs in disgust, frowning when he leans closer. She can see everything, like the wicked scar that ran the length of his face, starting from his eyebrow across his eye and down over his lips, ending just above his chin.

"And I wanted to know if you would grace me with a dance." He continues, eyeing what little he can see of Brittany since she was pretty covered up. Brittany hears the scrape of a chair behind her and no sooner than a few seconds does Sam come whizzing by and straight towards the creep who kept smiling at her.

"Hey back off!" Sam shouts, quickly getting in between Brittany and the man. The man raises his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I was just asking for a dance. Let the lady answer." He smiles, continuing to leer at her.

"I'm here with someone actually." Brittany lies, resting her hand on Rachel's thigh when the man frowns. Rachel's eyes bug out and Brittany tries to contain her smile.

"Brittany!" Rachel whisper shouts. "What are you doing?" Brittany's hand still rests on Rachel's thigh. She gets up and moves closer to Rachel, turning her back to the man and leaning down to whisper.

"Just trust me. Pretend that we're together so this guy'll leave me alone. Okay?" She pulls Rachel from the bar, slipping past Sam and the creep—who looks irrationally angry—and out into the crowd.

Once Brittany can't see the bar anymore, she turns to Rachel loosening her death like grip on her hand.

"That was awesome." Brittany says, smiling at the perplexed look on Rachel's face. She starts moving her hips, dancing to the heavy beat pounding through the speakers.

"Come on Rachel. Dance!" Brittany takes Rachel's hands, lifting them to her shoulders to let them rest there.

Eventually Rachel loosens up, at least she gets as loose as Rachel Berry can go, and starts swaying with Brittany, laughing when she messes up the dance that Brittany's trying to lead. Brittany just rolls her eyes and smiles.

"Come on, Rachel. I know you can do better than that." Brittany teases. Rachel huffs indignantly, smiling when she sees the evil glint in Brittany's eyes. Then her face turns serious again.

"I do hope that you realize this relationship can go no further then tonight." Rachel rattles off, stopping the dance to cross her arms defiantly. Brittany keeps dancing, moving around Rachel.

"What are you talking about?" She frowns.

"Yes, I know I'm a very desirable woman but I am also a taken woman." Brittany shakes her head as Rachel talks.

"Although I've had my fair share of sapphic relationships. Me and Finn are going steady." Rachel continues.

"Stop talking." Brittany stops to stand in front of Rachel, bringing her hands up to her crossed arms to pull them down.

"I don't want to date you Rachel. You're my friend...most of the time."

"Hey, what is that supposed to me-" Rachel cuts in.

"Besides," Brittany quickly continues "You're not my type." Brittany dismisses and slowly slips away.

Rachel thinks about it for a minute.

"Wait! I'm not your type? Then what is your type?!" Rachel yells after Brittany as she heads for the bar.

_Hot Latinas in taxi cabs._

* * *

"Rach..." Brittany slurs, heavily leaning against Rachel who is struggling to keep her upright. "You know, you're kind of pretty." Brittany mumbles.

"Mercedes, can you get the door open?" Rachel grunts, struggling to help a drunk Brittany up to their apartment.

"I'm trying, practice some patience girl." Mercedes sasses back, rolling her eyes as she fumbles with the lock, the alcohol raging through her veins making things a little difficult.

Rachel seemed to be the only one that wasn't shit-faced.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Rachel apologizes when Brittany slips from her hold and falls to the floor pretty hard.

Brittany doesn't even seem to care because she just wiggles around on the ground, laughing hysterically and clutching at her stomach.

"Rachel!" Brittany screams from the floor. "I can see up your skirt." She giggles childishly.

Mercedes finally gets the door open and Rachel scrapes Brittany off the pavement and haphazardly into the apartment.

"Mercedes, could you fetch her a glass of water and a bag of chips or something?" Mercedes just nods and disappears into the kitchen.

"Hello Kitty underwear." Brittany whispers, waggling her eyebrows at Rachel.

"Ugh, you're insufferable." Rachel admonishes, tugging Brittany into the bedroom to get her cleaned up and in some sleep clothes. They don't hear Santana come out of her room in search of what's causing all the noise.

"Why can't I go to my place?" Brittany pouts like a child. Watching Rachel ruffle through her drawers for clothes long enough to fit Brittany. She couldn't find any so she just settled for some shorts and a shirt that fit pretty loose on her. It would probably be tight on Brittany though.

"Because, I genuinely fear for your life when you get like this." Rachel shuts her drawer and tosses the clothes to Brittany who lets them bounce off her chest and hit the floor.

"And I don't want you to fall down the stairs and crack open your skull like an egg." Rachel continues. Blue eyes stare at the clothes dejectedly. Rachel stares at Brittany completely perplexed.

"Wait...what's the difference between an egg with a baby chicken inside of it and an egg with an egg in it?" Brittany asks innocently, struggling to pick up the clothes that fell.

"They're the same thing, Brittany." Rachel states knowingly, stepping out of the room so Brittany can change.

"That doesn't make sense." Brittany sighs.

She huffs frustratedly when she puts two legs in the same pant hole for the shorts. Santana slips into the room, looking for Rachel.

"What's with all the noise?" Santana grumbles sleepily, not noticing Brittany. In her drunken daze Brittany doesn't realize that who was currently speaking wasn't actually Rachel and when she lunges at the body, no shirt and all, Santana immediately stiffens at the soft porcelain skin currently all over her.

Brittany nuzzles her nose into Santana's hair, hugging who she thinks is Rachel super tight. "You smell...spicyyyy." Brittany slurs. "Like cinnamon—you're my little cinnamon stick." She sighs into Santana's neck.

"Thanks Rachel." Brittany continues, dozing off just a little on Santana. "I'm so drunk." She chuckles sleepily.

"Yeah, because I'm not Rachel!" Santana snaps and Brittany startles, tripping over her own two feet and falling to the carpet, rubbing the skin on her knees raw on the carpet. This almost completely sobers her up.

"I'm so sorry!" She apologizes profusely, an angry blush spreading down her neck and down her face. She tries to cover her naked torso up with the throw rug on the floor and Santana kind of feels sorry for being so harsh.

Santana doesn't miss the glimpse of Brittany's lean body though. She was like, wonder woman but blonde.

Rachel rushes in at the noise and Mercedes soon follows, carrying a bag of chips and one of those weird water bottles that Rachel had filled the duffle bag with.

"Oh goodness, Brittany are you okay." Rachel crouches down to help the blonde up on her feet and into a shirt.

_So that was her name. _Santana lets the tiniest of smiles grace her face. Brittany. Hm.

Mercedes sets the bag of chips and the bottle of water down on Rachel's dresser. Brittany soon face plants into the bed, mumbling something about being afraid Sam would swallow her whole with his huge lips.

"Eat this okay? Nurse that hangover before it actually comes." Rachel chastises Brittany who has already dropped off into dreamland. Rachel then turns and heads out of the room, shooing Mercedes along with her. "Love you!" Brittany yells out to Rachel.

Santana hangs back a little, curious as to why everyone seems to know this _Brittany _except her. She flicks the lamp light off and prepares to leave until long fingers wrap around her wrist. It's weird, but Santana literally feels sparks shoot up her arm at Brittany's touch.

"Stay." Brittany mumbles, her eyes still closed.

"I don't even know you." Santana frowns, unsure.

Brittany huffs, pouting. "My name is Brittany S. Pierce_—not _Britney Spears—I have a cat, Lord Tubbington, and I think you're crazy beautiful. Does that work?" Brittany's voice is clipped but Santana can't help but smile at the adorable pout on her face despite her eyes being closed.

_Wait what?_

Brittany pulls the covers back on the other side of the bed, patting the spot next to her. "I don't like sleeping by myself." Which was true, since when she was at her apartment she'd either be with Lord Tubbington or in Tina's room.

"Sure." Santana slips under the covers and Brittany pulls them back over the both of them. Santana scoots as far left away from Brittany as she can. Despite her consent to sleep with Brittany—not in that way—it was still awkward.

"Thank you." Brittany says sweetly, yawning and drifting off to sleep. Later into the night, Santana snakes her hand across the bed to connect with Brittany's fingers. A smile subconsciously spreads across both their faces.

* * *

Brittany jolts awake, shooting up in bed in a cold sweat. The red covers pool around her waist and Brittany shivers. Her temples throb and all of last night and her drunk charades come back to her. Filters of the morning light just before sunrise flood in through Rachel's blinds.

She peaks over at Santana who is still resting peacefully—thank goodness—her chest rising and falling soundlessly. She was surprised Santana actually agreed to stay with her, and was currently snuggled up underneath her. Brittany was certain Santana practically hated her before, which made her a sad panda. That familiar—annoying—buzzing came back, tingling like butterflies in her chest and fluttering down her arms the longer she stared at Santana. But this time the feeling settled in her stomach, with a nervous beat of butterfly wings.

Her black hair lay splayed across the pillow's like a curtain of silk. Brittany just wanted to run her fingers through it. Santana's mouth was slightly open, snoring softly but her eyebrows were furrowed in discontent. Brittany just wanted to kiss it away and before her mind could think about it her body was reacting for her.

Brittany leaned forward, twinkling blue eyes checking Santana's features for any disturbances. The buzzing had increased tenfold and she was literally shaking by the time she laid shuddering lips onto the warm skin on Santana's forehead. Almost immediately, the frown leaves Santana's face and Brittany leans back, slipping out from under the covers and taking a deep breath. She had literally stopped breathing. Her powers must be tied to her emotions...well that's not good.

Brittany turns away from the bed and stretches out her tired limbs. The flexing only makes her headache worse and she feels dizzy for a minute. She freezes when the bed sheets rustle.

"So now you're leaving me." Santana's raspy voice floats into Brittany's ears. The way she said it made it seem like they'd had sex and Brittany was trying to sneak away.

_Oh dear jesus._

She immediately faces Santana.

"I don't even know you." Brittany smiles, repeating what Santana said last night.

"Hmm, lets see." Santana pauses, tapping her index finger against her chin in thought. "My name is Santana Lopez—_not _like the guitarist—I don't have any pets but I do have a little brother...oh, and apparently I'm _crazy beautiful_." Santana mocks Brittany, smiling and her dimple showing. Brittany was mesmerized by the little hole in Santana's face.

Brittany's ears heat up and she's sure Santana notices because she sees the subtle shaking of her shoulders.

"I-I was drunk." Brittany tries to explain.

"Mhm," Santana nods skeptically. The smell of pancakes waft into the room and Brittany's eyes immediately light up. Santana chuckles at the sudden change.

"Do you want pancakes?" Brittany asks, already half way out the door and before Santana can answer she's gone.

"Sure." Santana says to herself.

By the time Santana makes it to the kitchen. Brittany is already plopped down on a stool, chowing down on some of Mercedes' delicious flapjacks.

_That sounded sexual. _Santana chuckles to herself and blue eyes immediately zone in on her smiling face. Brittany looks like a chipmunk with her cheeks full of pancakes and a little syrup dripping down her chin.

"Do you need a bib, baby?" Santana mocks Brittany, smiling and pointing at her chin when Brittany looks confused. She grabs a plate for the pancakes.

Santana turns to Mercedes who plops two fresh pancakes onto her plate. She turns back to the island and sees Brittany frantically wiping at her chin, her cheeks a furious shade of red.

"You're cute." Santana says offhandedly, going to sit on the couch in the living room. Brittany just smiles, saying nothing.

_Ugh, say something doofus. _Brittany smacks her forehead.

Mercedes sends a curious glance over her shoulder, watching as Brittany not so subtly leers at Santana's swaying ass. She rolls her eyes and flips a few more pancakes for her and Rachel in case she wakes up.

"Ugh! You make the best pancakes." Brittany moans, devouring the last bite of fluffy cooked batter. The more food she got into her system, the less her head throbbed.

"You're like, Mama Odie from Princess and the Frog." Brittany says simply. Mercedes rolls her eyes and smiles.

"Brittany, giiirrl, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't make gumbo, and just because I'm black doesn't mean I sing _about _it either." Mercedes laughs and Brittany smiles, a glint in her eye that gave away that she was joking and knew what she was doing. Brittany wasn't as clueless as some people thought.

"Damn, I guess I'll have to look for another diva that can cook me some then." Brittany tests evilly.

"Oh hell to the no. You can't replace this." Mercedes shouts, spatula waving around in the air. Brittany gets out of her seat and attacks Mercedes with a hug.

"You're my favorite little tater tot." She squeezes Mercedes harder. "I can't replace you." She lays on the sugar.

"Get off me." Mercedes laughs, whacking Brittany with the spatula.

"Good morning, Hobbit." Santana greets from her place on the couch.

"Why thank you, Santana." Rachel says dryly.

"My pleasure." Santana retorts around a mouthful of pancakes.

"Brittany can you and Mercedes head out a little later to go grocery shopping? I have a workshop that I need to do this afternoon and I can't go." Rachel turns to Brittany and Mercedes.

"Sure." Brittany agrees, even though she doesn't live here permanently, most of her time was spent eating up their food in their apartment so it was only fair.

"Nope. Can't." Mercedes says apologetically.

"I can go." Santana offers shyly from the couch. Brittany immediately looks over at Santana, their eyes locking. She tries to contain her smile.

The tips of her fingers start buzzing and only when Rachel snatches them up to hide behind Brittany's back does she realize they were sparkling with blue energy. Maybe the whole powers being tied to her emotions wasn't a very good thing. Mercedes and Santana were none the wiser to what just happened.

"Okay, well then get dressed Brittany and I'll give you guys the list. Perfectly arranged alphabetically in order of their food groups I might add." Rachel shrugs.

A few minutes later Santana and Brittany are both dressed and ready to go. Brittany in a pair of Rachel's grey sweats and a loose worn top that had 'Aerosmith' written across it. Santana in a pair of tight dark wash skinny jeans that hugged her hips and a simple sweater.

Rachel handed Brittany the list as she was pulling her blonde hair back into a messy ponytail.

"Don't take too long." Rachel said as Santana and Brittany left.

Once outside, Santana immediately pulled her keys out for her car but Brittany rested a steady hand across Santana's.

"We can just take the metrobus. It's easier." Brittany shrugged and Santana followed after her towards the bus stop. Speaking of transportation, Brittany needed to get a new bike. Mr. Wally had given her like a week off after the accident and she was bored out of her mind.

* * *

"Let's split up." Santana said, slipping the list out of Brittany's hand and reading over it. Santana tried to ignore the tingle that shot down her arm when their fingers brushed. Brittany was focusing on the weird looks almost everyone was sending their way. She knew they were hot but damn.

"You take snacks and fruit, I'll take meat, bread, and seasoning." Santana rattles off the list. Brittany just nods absentmindedly. Splitting up with Santana and immediately heading to the fruit section.

Brittany was picking up a few apples and turning them over to look for bruises when she felt someone's eyes on her. She looked up, locking eyes with the cashier that always creeped about by the birthday balloons waiting for someone—anyone—to ask them to blow up something. She frowned, scanning her eyes to the left and locking eyes with someone else looking at her curiously. An old lady that had her miniature chihuahua pulled up to her chest as she shopped. Gross.

Brittany—substantially creeped out—shoved a few apples, oranges, and pears into some bags not caring if they were beat up or not and rushed off to quickly get snacks. Turning onto aisle Brittany spotted Santana down at the end of the aisle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she held the box of cookies up close to her face. She looked like she was reading the nutrition facts. Brittany smiled, turning to look at the row of chips but glancing at Santana every once in a while. She was so beautiful.

_Crazy Beautiful._

Their eyes locked when Brittany looked up from the chips again, blue eyes widened momentarily when Santana frowned. But she smiled when that frown turned into a shy smile as Santana turned back to looking at the nutrition facts, tucking a raven lock of hair behind her ear nervously. Brittany smiled happily, moving down the aisle swiftly, sweeping her hands across the rows as she continued to eye Santana.

As she got close enough for Santana to finally notice, Brittany winked, a twitch of her eye that had Santana melting inside. But Brittany's smile soon turned to a frown when she caught sight of the newspaper sitting in the racks at the front of the store. She moved closer, snatching the newspaper out of the holder when she saw the headline written across the top in big black letters.

**SECRET TERRORIST PLOT?  
**

That was the title plastered over a picture of her leaving—which she wasn't aware had been taken—BioTech a few weeks earlier...just before the blast. She could see her face as clear as day and completely visible. Her fingers were itching like crazy. There was a little excerpt beneath it:

_**Brittany S. Pierce—25 years old—has been placed under government surveillance within the past 48 hours for rumored involvement with the plotted attack on the Pentagon's intel systems a few weeks ago. Systems went offline for an undisclosed amount of time just after the blast. She is considered a serious threat and a spy. Report sightings on the**_** spot.**

After mouthing the words over again Brittany heard a commotion just to her left. Men in black suites and opaque black shades barged through the front doors. They needed to leave—now.

Brittany snuck back across to Santana, snatching up her hand and pulling them to the back of the grocery store. "What the hell, Brittany?" Santana yelled indignantly. Brittany had long since dropped her shopping cart full of fruit.

"Where are we going?" Santana stumbled when Brittany sped up after someone yelled after them to stop.

"There are bad guys." Brittany responded vaguely, gripping Santana's fingers tighter at the sight of the men closing in on them. She was focusing on not getting thrown in jail for the rest of her life. Or worse. Santana scoffed.

"Oh, okay." Santana said dryly, rolling her eyes at Brittany's antics. They brushed through the plastic flaps separating the freezer in the back from the rest of the grocery store. Brittany pulled them into a corner, pressing Santana further into the space when the the men sped past. The energy surging through her veins forced it's way down her spine. She had to hide her hands behind her back to keep Santana from seeing them glowing.

"What is going on? Brittany, you can tell me." Santana pleaded with worried eyes.

"I-I'm in some trouble." Her voice shook.

And then the power went out, shielding them in darkness.

**Did you like it? **


	5. Can't Catch a Break

A/N: Hey everyone. *Backs up in a corner and hides* Long time no see. Here's the update! A little longer than the last. It's unbeta'd and super late right now so all mistakes are my own.

OldGregg:Thank you so much for your review! You have no idea how much that meant to me that you appreciated my efforts. It made my week just so you know.

Also, thanks to everyone that's taken the time to alert, review, or favorite the story because I love your feedback.

Disclaimer:I don't own Glee or it's characters.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Can't Catch a Break**

Breathing hard and heart racing, Brittany clutched at Santana's hand as they shot out the back of the grocery store. Rachel would just have to wait.

"Brittany! Could you please tell me what's going on? What do you mean by, you're in some trouble?" Santana questions breathlessly, trying to keep up with Brittany's long strides.

Brittany pulls them out into the parking lot behind some trucks where they crouch down to hide.

"We need to get out of here." Brittany mumbles to herself, fumbling with something in her hair.

Santana is looking around the parking lot frantically, searching for the danger that Brittany was so dead set on escaping from. When she doesn't immediately see the men in black she turns back to Brittany, an incredulous look painted across her features. Brittany pulls out a black bobby pin from the back of her ponytail, quickly using nimble fingers to spread the pin apart.

Blue eyes flicker around the parking lot, quickly zoning in on an old building across the way.

"Come on," Brittany motions for Santana to follow as she jogs behind a row of cars, running the tips of her fingers across a Chevy's worn paint job as she approaches the door. She pushes up against it with her shoulder and soon realizes it's locked. She bends down, eye level with the lock.

Santana watched curiously as Brittany jammed the bobby pin into the key lock, wiggling it up and down until something clicked. Swiftly, Brittany gripped the back of the bobby pin and turned it, opening up the door like it was no big deal. She had gotten used to picking locks when she was younger, in high school, and would forget to bring her key to unlock her motocross bikes.

Just then, the back door to the grocery store banged open and lines of men filed out. They weren't your average shopper either. They looked mean. Brittany grabbed Santana's hand and they slipped into the building unnoticed.

Once the door was shut Brittany turned to Santana. "I'll explain things to you later. Right now, we need to get back to the apartment." They make their way to the front of the building and out onto the sidewalk where Brittany hails a cab and they head back to the apartment.

The ride is fairly awkward since Santana spends most of it pushed up against the door on the opposite side of the cab, away from Brittany and with her arms crossed.

"I can't tell you everything right now. I don't really know what's going on myself." Brittany's voice shakes a little and Santana notices.

"I-I think I'm being blamed for something I didn't do." Brittany continues, struggling to keep her voice level as she fiddles nervously with her hands in her lap. A single teardrop falls onto her hand, dripping down her wrist and absorbing into her sweats. A warm hand covers her own, and Brittany snaps her eyes to Santana.

"Whatever it is," Santana shakes her head. "I don't want to know." Assured brown eyes bored into glistening azure ones.

"Thanks." Brittany mumbles, squeezing Santana's hand in her own.

The rest of the ride is deathly silent.

* * *

As they were sneaking up the stairs to the apartment like a bunch of teenagers, Santana got the chills all of a sudden. Brittany hadn't let go of her hand since they'd gotten out of the taxicab and she had been subconsciously running her thumb along smooth caramel skin the entire time.

It was so strange though. The feeling Brittany's touch would cause, like little feathers tickling up the length of her arm and settling into her chest. It was strangely exhilarating and as they approached Rachel's door Santana gripped Brittany's hand tighter, trying to hang on to that feeling.

Brittany noticed, quickly turning her neck and flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with the motion. Santana caught a whiff of Brittany's shampoo, sweet and light. It smelled—not quite like strawberries, something lemony maybe—but close to it.

The only thing she saw was bright eyes and lips moving. She frowned.

"What?" Santana spoke dumbly.

Brittany chuckles.

"I said," Brittany pauses, peaking the tip of her pink tongue out to wet her lips. Santana watches her carefully. "You're shivering, I should probably let you get inside," she moves closer to Santana, bringing her hands up to the sleeves on Santana's sweatshirt and rubbing up and down to create some friction.

All Santana could focus on was the definition in Brittany's deltoids and how every time she moved her hands up and down Santana's arms, they would flex and shift beneath smooth skin. Santana nods. Choosing not to respond.

She feels even colder when lithe hands leave her body.

"See you later," Brittany backs up, blue eyes glistening like they're hoping for something, waiting.

"Wait!" Santana comes out of her stupor staggering forward in an attempt to stop Brittany.

"What if something happens to you? Maybe you should stay here tonight." Santana asks. She was worried ever since what had happened earlier. Brittany smiles, her eyes brightening.

"I always stay safe." She responds vaguely, winking and leaving Santana behind.

"Huh." Santana sighs perplexed, leaning back against the apartment door. Something starts buzzing against her leg and she fishes her phone out of her pocket, quickly pushing accept and pressing it up to her ear.

"Hello?" She answers.

"Santana, hello." It was Holly Holiday. "You need to come in tomorrow morning. Like ASAP, sweet cheeks."

"Why, what's going on?" Santana huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning more heavily onto the door. It wasn't like she needed anymore stress today.

"Lets just say one Sue Sylvester is not a happy camper, okay."Holly informs her cautiously, mumbling something about Sue being a hormonal bitch that needed to get some.

_With whose vagina?_ Santana scoffs.

"Okay, I'll be there tomorrow morning at six. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, great! The sooner you get here the better. We can get some tacooos after!" Holly cheers down the phone.

"Bye." Santana smiles.

"Adios, chica!" Holly yells.

Santana glances back at the stairs leading towards Brittany one last time before slipping into the apartment.

* * *

When the sun went down and the streetlights came on, Brittany slipped back out of her apartment and pulled out her phone, dialing what was once a familiar number.

"Hello?" Quinn answers groggily on the other side of the line. Brittany hears some shuffling of sheets. She was probably asleep.

"Hey, Quinn…I-It's Brittany."

"Brittany? Hey, what's the special occasion?" Quinn replies sarcastically. Brittany could practically imagine her rolling her eyes.

"I know, okay." Brittany felt guilty for sure about never calling Quinn—her best friend, quite as often as she used to. When Quinn had gotten a new job at a new corporation they'd fallen out of touch and Quinn started hanging out with a different crowd. A crowd that Brittany didn't approve of. Spending dirty money and drug business wasn't really her _thing. _Luckily Quinn never really got involved in the Fabray business, instead she branched off and did something else but every once in a while she'll become destructive and slip back into her old ways.

There's a sigh on the other end of the phone. "What do you want, Brittany?"

"I-I need your help." She spoke hesitantly.

"What for?" Quinn snaps back venomously.

"Quinn…I get it. I know okay, I _know. _I'm so sorry." Brittany pleads.

"No, Brittany. You don't get it. You wanna know why?" Quinn waits and Brittany opens her mouth to respond but Quinn beats her to it.

"You weren't there when I needed you! Why the hell would I help you now? When _you_ needme."

"Because Quinn, if you loved me you would help me. Don't push me away like Puck. I'm not Puck, okay." Brittany grimaces, squeezing her eyes shut as the words leave her lips. She knows it's a low blow when the line goes silent but she can't take it back now. She has to own up.

"What do you want from me, Brittany?" Quinn's voice is eerily fragile, trembling just enough for Brittany to catch it.

"Just a few minutes…can you meet me at the diner? Please." Brittany begs.

"Yeah Brittany. _Anything _for you." Quinn sneers, hanging up before Brittany can say anything else.

It only takes a few minutes for Brittany to reach Danny's, a small diner on the corner that's been there for as long as Brittany can remember. When she was little and living in Lima she'd come here for the summer to live with her grandparents and every Friday they'd end up here, at Danny's chowing down on some burgers.

She smiles, but it comes out looking more like a grimace as she pulls the jacket closer to her body. Brittany remembers that one summer after senior year when she was working at the diner to pay for dance classes. That's the summer she met Quinn, all troubles and no play.

Now that she thought about it, she had no clue how she and Quinn even became friends because they were like magnets, the ones that didn't attract but repelled to the furthest corners of the planet just to get away from each other.

They were complete polar opposites. Brittany was somewhere in the southern hemisphere where the sun graced islanders with tropical conditions most of the year and Quinn was dead center in the middle of the north pole, forever the ice queen.

"_Brittany, if you're late again I'm gonna fire ya!" Jason—grey hairs riddling his jet-black hair—jokes from the back. _

"_I told you I had dance class today!" Brittany yells back happily, taking his threats in stride. She quickly grabs her uniform off the hook and slips it over her shoulders. Picking up a spray bottle and a cloth, she starts cleaning off the tables to prepare for the night shift, when all the people getting off work would come in for a coffee or a nice slice of pie. _

_Brittany always got in trouble for talking to more people than serving them. But they never complained because she gave time to each and every person that was waiting for her company—and oh they waited. Sometimes even the entire night just to get their chance to talk to the bright eyed young waitress. _

_Most would try to make a pass at her but either Jason would quickly shut that down, yelling for Brittany to get back to work or Brittany would simply let them down easy. Then they'd promise to come back anyways for the 'pie'. It was a vicious cycle of one rejection after another but Brittany's young teenage mind couldn't help but be flattered by it all. _

_Jason warned her to stop playing around with his customers because she might just break their hearts so bad they wouldn't come back. Brittany would just roll her eyes and assure him that they would always come back. _

_As Brittany was wiping off the last table, the diner bell hung over the door rang and the momentary chaos of the outside world with it's zooming cars polluting the air, and it's bustling city slipped through until the door shut again blocking off the sound. _

_The saddest soul Brittany had ever seen slipped right past her, taking a seat on the red cushy stool at the bar. The smile immediately left her face. _

"_Hey, what can I get you?" Jason took on that tone of voice that he always did when customers who seemed particularly depressed came in. It was like he was trying to coax them out of their stupor. _

"_Umm…" The girl trailed off, roaming hazel eyes over the menu behind Jason. "Can I have a coconut cream pie?" She asks timidly. Brittany winces at the order. That was their worst pie—despite the rest being absolutely delicious, Jason just couldn't get the recipe right for coconut cream pie and there was no way Brittany was going to be able to get it because recipes were…confusing for her. _

_She sets the bottle of cleaner and the cloth down on the table and slides up to the bar, grabbing Jason's attention as well as the girl's in the process. _

"_Don't order that." Brittany warns, turning to Jason. "Get her a cherry pie. I think she'll like that." Brittany grins when Jason winks. It was no secret that Brittany was a miracle worker when it came to sad customers. _

"_Excuse you." Angry hazel eyes zone in on Brittany's. _

"_Jason can't make a good coconut cream pie to save his life." Brittany whispers conspiratorially, her smile lessening only a little when the girl remains frowning. _

"_Hey! I heard that!" Jason yells from the back. _

"_It's true!" Brittany chuckles, blue eyes brightening when she catches a glimpse of a small smile on the other girl's face. Although it quickly turns to a frown when Jason sets the plate of cherry pie down in front of her. _

"_Voila!" Jason flourishes. "Kisses sweeter than a cherry pie." He quickly hums out, and Brittany rolls her eyes. _

"_Drop it Jason, you're not gonna make Danny's Diner on Broadway happen okay." Brittany jokes, laughing when Jason tucks his arms up beneath his chin in mock hurt and storms off towards the back. _

"_Try it," Brittany takes a seat next to the hazel eyed girl who has yet to try the pie, instead choosing to fumble the fork around the plate._

"_I don't even like cherries." The girl frowns, screwing her face up._

"_Well these cherries are magical, they don't even taste like cherries because it's all a bunch of preservatives anyway. They're fakers." Brittany shrugs, her eyes widening jokingly. _

_The girl laughs wholeheartedly this time and the smile finally reaches her eyes. She turns towards Brittany, curious hazel eyes furrowed in question. _

"_Why are you being nice to me? You don't even know me." That last bit comes across a little harsher than the girl intended but Brittany doesn't pick up on it._

_Brittany simply shrugs, shaking her head and smiling. "I'm trying now." The girl nods, tucking a stray blonde lock behind her ear, and turns back to the pie. She breaks a small piece of the pie off onto her fork and brings it to her lips. Brittany notices the small tattoo just behind the girl's ear. _

'_No regrets', was written in fancy cursive right below her ear. Brittany wonders what this girl was regretful of to have gotten the tattoo in the first place._

"_Hmm." The girl shakes her head. "You're right." Brittany perks up at this. _

"_It doesn't taste like cherries, like at all." She scrunches her face up and Brittany laughs. _

"_I told you." _

"_Yeah, you did." The other blonde takes another bite of the pie despite its taste. _

"_I'm Brittany." Brittany tries cautiously, fishing for a name._

_The girl turns to her, hazel eyes locking with patient blue. _

"_Quinn. Quinn Fabray." _

Brittany sighs, pulling open the glass door and slipping into the familiar diner.

"Hey, Brittany!" Jason immediately greets Brittany, all smiles and completely grey. His son Michael, who had been working away at wiping down the counters while balancing a serving tray, unceremoniously dropped his tray full of drinks, blushing furiously when Brittany zoned in on the mess he made.

Jason rolled up the dishtowel in his hand, quickly whacking his son over the head with it. "Man up son! You can't go letting pretty ladies throw you off your game like that." Brittany smiles.

"Clean this up," Jason angrily points to the shakes spilled all around his feet.

"Yes sir." Michael mumbles, hiding himself behind the counter like a scorned puppy with its tail tucked.

"Lay off him a little, Jay. It's cute." Brittany chastises.

Suddenly Michael trips, dropping the tray of cups he had just collected once again. Luckily they weren't filled this time.

"Brittany, you're not doing anything good for my son's self esteem. Please stop." He grins, the skin around his eyes crinkling with his smile.

"Sorry." Brittany apologizes. Just then the bell on the door dings again and Quinn steps in, loosening the scarf around her neck. When Quinn spots Brittany her frown deepens and she swivels on her heel, storming towards a booth to wait for Brittany.

Jason whistles lowly. "Jeez. Good luck." He pats Brittany on the back and disappears behind the counter, leaving Brittany to take on the force that was Quinn Fabray all on her own.

Brittany slides into the booth seat across from Quinn who sits fuming on the other side, arms crossed defensively.

"Come on Quinn, don't." Brittany moves to pull Quinn's arms away from her chest but Quinn jerks back, startling Brittany.

"What do you want?" She wipes at her eyes helplessly and it's just then that Brittany notices the redness.

"Have you been crying?" Brittany mumbles sadly.

"Get to the point, Brittany." Quinn snaps. Brittany pulls the newspaper from her jacket and gingerly lays it out across the table.

"Brittany, what is—" Quinn stops abruptly, zoning in on the headline. "Terrorist plot?" She mumbles to herself.

"I think I'm being framed for something I didn't do." Brittany says. Quinn frowns, taking a closer look at the article. Just below the excerpt there was a name of a reporter listed below it.

"Sebastian Smythe." Quinn grits out. "That dirty bastard."

Sebastian Smythe was quite the character. He prided himself on ruining people's lives and sticking his crooked nose anywhere he could smell some shit, ready to write about it in the Dirty Daily. _What even was that name? _

"Wait, how am I supposed to be of any help?" Quinn asks. "And why does this involve you?" Quinn furrows her brows, lifting the paper just a little to hold it up to the harsh lights in the diner.

"Last time I checked, you were delivering packages for a living." Quinn rattled off venomously. Brittany ignored the cheap shot at her job.

"I was thinking maybe you're…dad could help out. Being that he's Mr. P and all."

"No, nu uh, not gonna happen." Quinn protests, slapping the worn newspaper down on the dingy vinyl table.

"He barely has time to call me let alone deal with stuff like this," Quinn rattles the paper on the table, picking at its edges disinterestedly. She was hurt a little more than intended at just how true her last statement was. Quinn's father was never one to pick his family over his job.

"Quinn. I _need _your help." Brittany pleads.

"I still don't understand why you have anything to do with this." Brittany closes up at that, receding into herself as she sinks lower into the booth.

"Brittany?" Quinn takes on that tone, her frown deepening. Brittany couldn't be the only one that was feeling like hell was about to open up and spit fire and brimstone.

"I didn't mean to." Brittany gnaws at the side of her mouth, a nervous habit.

"_Brittany!" _Everyone and their mother turn around all bug eyed and disturbed at the commotion Quinn was causing.

"What the _hell _are you all looking at?" Quinn whirls around in her booth, insane glare placed firmly on her face. They all looked away as quickly as they'd turned towards them.

"Explain." Quinn says firmly. A quivering lip tucked angrily between pearly white teeth.

"It'd probably be easier if I showed you…" Brittany trailed off.

"Well then lay it on me." Quinn crosses her arms.

Brittany concentrates, breathing in and out slowly as the buzzing steadily builds in her chest and the fluttering travels down her arms and into the tips of her fingers. She ignores the perplexed look Quinn gives her as she balls her left hand up into a fist, channeling all the energy through her veins.

Then, suddenly she releases the fist flipping her palm face up where a small ball of blue electricity sits floating effortlessly in her palm. Quinn just about loses it, rocketing across the table to snatch up Brittany's hand and close it back into a fist. Her hands still wrapped tightly around Brittany's left wrist, Quinn pulls them both out of the booth and out of the diner.

"Quinn, where are we going?" Brittany asks simply, not at all as panicked as Quinn seemed to be.

"Anywhere but here, Brittany." They slip into an alley across from a streetlight away from prying eyes, and Quinn pulls Brittany's hands in front of her.

"Can you show me again?" Quinn asks softly.

"Sure." Brittany nods, shaking out her arms and concentrating as the buzzing comes back but this time it's stronger and a little bigger. It shoots down her arm and back up so quickly that when she opens her balled up fists little missiles of energy blast out of her palms, blowing up the garbage cans at the end of the alley. Quinn gapes.

"That's never happened before." Brittany smiles.

"Why are you smiling? Brittany this isn't good." Quinn reprimands her.

"Why not? I have powers, s'cool right?" Brittany grins as she tosses a ball of energy between each hand, pouting when she drops it and it hits the ground in a puff of smoke and fizzling blue energy. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"No, Brittany because when there's one person with powers—" Quinn is cut off by a huge explosion that rocks the ground beneath them. They can hear people screaming in chaos and they see a few run past the alley. Brittany runs past her to check it out.

"There's always another few dozen with powers too." Quinn sighs, rubbing at her temples. Brittany is already half way down the street by the time Quinn even turns around.

"_Brittany! _Get back here!" Quinn whisper shouts.

"I'm gonna go check it out, Quinn. I'll be back." Brittany heads further down the street, ducking behind abandoned cars and dodging screaming civilians.

"No you won't! Brittany? Dammit, you will listen to me!" Nope, she won't because Brittany never listens to Quinn. That's why they worked so well. Secretly Quinn didn't like it when people always did what she asked, she was used to yes men all her life, then along came Brittany who challenged that. But now she was hoping for a miracle that Brittany wouldn't get herself killed.

* * *

"Pay attention citizens of Manhattan!" Some too scared to move in fear of being obliterated watched on in fear as a figure stood about 5'10" on a wreckage of cars, backed by the fire blazing behind them.

He smoothed pale hands against his greasy jet-black hair, readjusting his suite and standing taller. "There has been a new _order _established as of _right now_!"

"Yes, a new order!" The figure's less than impressive lackey piped in from the left. Brittany wrestles against the crowd, pushing through to the front.

"Ugh! Anyways, let your government know that _we _have taken over, and we will not concede to any negotiation other than complete and total disbanding of _your _government."

Brittany's jaw clenches in anger, her heart going absolutely crazy. The buzzing in her chest begins humming and her fingertips start itching.

"Ahh, lookey here Dmitri." The figure makes a grand gesture towards Brittany who stands perplexed at the unwarranted attention.

"It seems this group of pathetic powerless humans has a leader. How cute." The figure drones sarcastically. Brittany has to bite down on her tongue to dull the electricity rocketing through her veins.

"Don't fight us!" The figure yells angrily, the fire behind him growing in intensity at the outburst. "You _will _lose." Brittany wondered who the 'us' that he was talking about were?

Spotlights drown out the area as the beating of helicopter wings sends the crowd into frenzy. They disperse in every which direction as Brittany stands rooted to the spot amongst all the chaos, stormy blue eyes trained solely on the lethal deep hazel ones staring right back.

Recognition dilates within hazel eyes and in an instant the man is sprinting away from the scene, his useless lackey following close behind. Despite what the laws of common sense told her Brittany sprinted after them, the muscles in her legs flexing and relaxing as she pumped them against the gravel. She didn't know why she wanted to be a hero all of a sudden.

"Coward!" Brittany screams, her jaw clenching.

"Cowards live longer." The shadowed figure singsongs menacingly. He cuts a corner, his lackey tripping to keep up. Brittany comes in right behind them, slowing down and slipping up against the wall as they stop in the alley.

"No need to hide. I can feel your racing heart—your weaknesses." He turns, eyes immediately locking with Brittany's despite her being concealed in the shadows. She presses further up against the rough brick. It eats into her back, ripping through her flimsy jacket.

"Let's just leave, she's not worth—" The quivering voice of the useless sidekick floats into her ears.

"Shut up Dmitri!" The figure shouts, bringing the back of his hand down hard against unsuspecting flesh. His lackey cries out, flopping to the ground in a useless mess of limbs writhing in pain.

Brittany is startled at how harsh the man treats his own kind, and when she gasps audibly, fear of the same fate sends dread leaching down her spine as all the blood drains from her face.

Almost in an instant, before Brittany has time to properly react. Gold and green glowing eyes are on her in no time. Fingers, ice cold, press into her skull like the searing hot stings of angry yellow jackets.

For the next few minutes—which seem like hours—Brittany can only register the blood-curdling scream that erupts from somewhere deep within her chest and the pain that has her wishing she were dead. Brittany swings her arms out wildly, catching the man across the jaw and off guard.

He delivers a swift blow to her ribs and a loud crack reverberates through the alley as some of her ribs break under the force. Somehow—maybe it's the adrenaline, the blow only winds her and she tries for another shot at the man's face, but he's expecting it this time so when he snatches up her flying fist, he twists her wrist unnaturally and presses the fingers of his other hand harder against her skull.

Visions, distorted flashes of images flicker behind her eyelids as her body seizes itself and she freezes up.

"Don't fight it." The man whispers hotly into Brittany's ear. A calming sensation drifts up Brittany's body. Despite trying to fight it, her body gives into the man's command. She wants to scream at herself for being so weak.

Hot tears leak from her eyes as images of the dead littered around her feet bombard her abducted thoughts. One image in particular has her audibly sobbing and clawing at the strong hands pressed into her skull.

It's an image of her on her knees in the midst of chaos. A faceless body draped across her arms resting lifelessly in her lap. She can see herself whispering into the unresponsive person's ear. Lips moving too fast for her to decipher, all Brittany can catch is the futile apologies falling on deaf ears.

"Please stop." Brittany croaks. Deciding she's had enough, the man steps away and watches as Brittany collapses.

"Well, Dmitri. I think our work here is done." The man dusts off his tousled suit and turns on his heel, preparing to leave.

"We're just going to leave her here?" The lackey questions unsurely, sending a hesitant glance over his shoulder at Brittany's useless body lying defenseless in the dirty alley.

"Well what do you suppose we do with her?" The man asks tersely.

"I-I don't know…" Dmitri trails off.

"Nothing. We do nothing. She has to handle the rest on her own. We've already interfered enough."

"O-okay." Dmitri agrees mindlessly, sending one final worried glance over his shoulder as they leave Brittany there.

* * *

Quinn had spent the past two hours looking for Brittany after she'd promised to return, which she knew was not guaranteed the minute it slipped past Brittany's lips. To say she was relieved once she'd found Brittany in some alley was an understatement. Worry quickly drowned out that relief though when she found that Brittany wasn't moving.

Quinn figured Brittany must have fell and hit her head because there was a huge gash that ran the length of her hairline. First and foremost Quinn checked for a pulse, and relieved to have found one she threw one of Brittany's unconscious arms over her shoulder and dragged her the rest of the way to her and Tina's apartment.

With the recent unfortunate series of events that had unfolded Quinn figured that going to a hospital wouldn't be such a good idea since Brittany was a wanted woman.

By the time they'd stumbled up the stairs and made it to Brittany's front door, said blonde was coming to, mumbling something about a serious headache and magical spirit fingers.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tina yelled angrily, door swung wide open and her revealing sleepwear on full display. Yeah Brittany would usually stay out late and come home at all hours of the night, but today she had promised to be home early and when Brittany made a promise there was no way she would break it unless there was something physically restraining her.

"Woah there. Hello to you too. Nice weather we're having huh?" Quinn snapped back, readjusting her hold on Brittany.

Tina's anger soon dissipated, replaced by worry once she had gotten a look at the condition Brittany was in. Tina stepped back against the door, ushering Quinn in.

"Lay her down on the couch." Tina instructed. As Brittany came to so did the pain from her injuries. It all came crashing down on her in one heap of massive fucking pain. Quinn tried to lay her down on the couch but the slip of her grip had Brittany landing on all too tender ribs.

"Ugh! Shit!" Brittany screamed, uncharacteristic expletives tumbling from her lips as she clutched uselessly at her side.

"Quinn!" Tina yelled.

"I'm sorry." Quinn fell to her knees. Hazel eyes roamed Brittany's distressed face as Quinn smoothed back sweat drenched strands of blonde hair from feverish skin.

"Tell me why exactly, Brittany isn't at the hospital? You know, where professionals who might actually know what they're doing could help?" Tina's voice was edging on hysterical.

Quinn ignored Tina's quickly approaching nervous breakdown and focused on how Brittany was feeling.

"Where does it hurt?" Quinn asked timidly, trying to ease the pain with each stroke of clammy hands against Brittany's forehead.

Brittany just gasped, clutching at Quinn's fingers. She wracked her brain for what to do…. Rachel.

Rachel would know what to do, Quinn would never admit it out loud but Rachel was always unnecessarily prepared.

Speaking of whom, an urgent knocking on the door broke Quinn out of her thoughts and upon opening the door none other than a one loud mouth Berry stood clad in Broadway themed footie pajamas, toothbrush hanging halfway out of her mouth and an indignant pout plastered across her face.

Pushing past a stunned Quinn, Rachel waltzed into the apartment in all her footie glory.

"Look, Tina, I know you and Mike participate in fairly questionable activities." Tina gaped.

"I don't judge." Rachel put her hands up and shrugged. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"But I draw the line at your kinky lifestyle interrupting my nightly revitalizing routine." Pointing her toothbrush at Tina accusingly, she brought her foot down harshly on the carpet but due to her attire it only sounded like a pillow hitting the floor, which was really about as much of a threat Rachel would ever be.

Rachel had yet to turn around and notice Brittany's current state of pain.

"I have no idea why Quinn is involved, and quite frankly I'm surprised because I didn't take her as the adventurous type…" Rachel trailed off thoughtfully, frowning and shaking her head soon after.

"Rachel, shut up." Brittany demanded weakly from the couch. "You're confusing me and I honestly don't know what your deal is."

Rachel spun around, startled at Brittany's deathly voice. Upon laying eyes on Brittany, she nearly passed out.

"What happened to you?!" Rachel shrieked. For a minute brown eyes met blue and silent communication let Rachel know that this incident was somehow tied to Brittany and her powers.

"That's what I'd like to know." Tina piped up. All eyes were on Quinn and Brittany, who was too weak to explain.

Quinn sighed in frustration.

"First, we need to find something to clean Brittany's cuts with and wrap up her ribs." Quinn looked to Tina.

"I don't know how to handle broken ribs and we used all the stuff in the first aid kit when Brittany nearly got ran over by that cab and fell off her bike a few weeks ago." Tina said, sending a disapproving look towards a chuckling Brittany.

"Why isn't she at the hospital?" Tina repeated her earlier question.

"What's so funny?" Quinn asked, ignoring Tina yet again. Rachel left the living room and went into the kitchen to start rifling around for something.

"It's funny," Brittany winced when a particular breath sent a jabbing pain down to her ribs. "Whenever Tina starts talking really fast she sounds like the adults in Peanuts. Blah blah wa waa waa."

Quinn fixed Brittany with the most curious look, a cross between mildly disturbed and incredibly intrigued all at the same time.

"Brittany…I do not sound like that." Tina protested.

"You kinda do." Quinn argued. Tina huffed, quickly leaving the room mumbling something about no one really appreciating her.

"Will you please focus? Brittany looks near death and from the sound of it, she's acquired a minor concussion as well." Rachel came hustling out of the kitchen with a bottle of distilled water and some pain pills.

"Take these." She dropped the pills into Brittany's hand and set the bottle of water down in Brittany's lap.

"I'll go ask Santana if she knows where our first aid kit is." Rachel turned to leave.

"Santana!?" Quinn and Brittany both cried out in unison, one out of surprise and the other out of worry. Brittany didn't want Santana to be upset because other than feeling like she was going to puke up a lung and that her head might just roll right off her shoulders, she felt fine. She promised Santana that she would stay safe too, and she didn't want Santana to see her like this.

"Yes." Rachel paused, the word slipping from her lips awkwardly. "What?" She asked dumbly.

"Nothing." Brittany quickly covered, sinking further into the couch.

"Santana lives with you?" Quinn asked curiously, her blonde eyebrow rose precariously.

"How is this of any importance?" Rachel argued impatiently.

"It's not." Quinn quickly shook her head, dismissing Rachel's question just like Brittany had.

No longer than three minutes later, Santana came storming into the apartment, big red first aid kit in hand and Rachel blabbing behind her. Hair tousled slightly from sleep and frown firmly in place, Santana was a little upset at being woken up in the middle of the night.

"I strongly suggest you not freak out Santana. It would be in the best interest of-"

"Rachel?" Santana cut her off.

"Yes." Rachel fell for it every time.

"Shutup." Santana, quick to shut Rachel down, almost lost it at what she saw next.

Brittany sat drenched in a cold sweat, a gash trickling blood down the right side of her head, and bruises that were quickly darkening angry purple. Yet her blue eyes were still as lively and bright as ever.

Quinn was the second person Santana laid eyes on, and to say things were awkward just wouldn't cut it.

"Quinn."

"Santana." Their greeting was short. Terse.

"Rachel I need to talk to you." Quinn shot up off the couch, snatching up Rachel's hand and leading them down the hall, leaving Santana and Brittany alone.

"Wh-what happened to staying safe?" Santana asked quietly, something sounding like concern leaking into her voice. She quickly sat down next to Brittany, being careful to steer clear of her swollen wrist. That too was bruising fairly quickly.

"I'm here now, right?" Brittany joked, smile quickly leaving her face when the corners of Santana's mouth still remained turned down in a frown. Her beautiful face marred with concern and worry. This was exactly what Brittany was trying to avoid.

Santana honestly didn't know why she cared so much, it's not like she'd known this girl for all her life. She had literally just met Brittany less than three days ago, but for some reason she couldn't help but worry about the girl that made her heart flutter hopelessly in her chest.

"I knew you should have just stayed." Santana pulled a cloth out of the kit, delicately pressing the mesh fabric against the gash and wiping up some of the blood around it.

When most of the blood was cleared up, Santana could see that the gash wasn't actually that big. Taking out a small bottle of peroxide she wets the cloth, only locking eyes with Brittany for two seconds when she hears a disgruntled huff and sees Brittany clutching at her incredibly tender ribs.

She presses the semi soaked cloth against the cut, quickly jumping back when Brittany hisses, reflexively pulling back from the sting it causes.

"Ouch," Brittany bats Santana's hand away. "That hurts, Santana."

Santana rolls her eyes, missing the playful glint in mischievous blue ones.

"Do you want me to help you or not?" She snaps, pulling away completely and moving to get up, but rushed fingers wrap around her wrist.

"No!" Brittany shouts. Santana scoffs and tries to pull away again.

"No—I mean yes! Wait." Brittany juts her bottom lip out in an adorable pout. Azure eyes plead with irritated mocha ones and Santana doesn't resist when pale warm fingers close around her wrist and pull her down onto the couch.

She brings the cloth back up to the gash on Brittany's head and dabs at the cut, lightly blowing on it soon after when Brittany hisses.

Brittany rests her hands on Santana's thighs as she leans forward so Santana can get a better look at the cut.

"It doesn't look too bad." Santana whispers, her breath tickling Brittany's heated bruised skin and somehow soothing her. She tucks a finger beneath Brittany's chin to turn her head.

Distracted pale fingers caress the smooth expanse of warm tan skin not covered by Santana's sleep shorts. All Brittany can focus on—not the pain in her ribs, or the ache of her wrist—is how close they've gotten in the past few minutes, their breath mingling and Santana's sweet scent completely surrounding her. She was having a hard time focusing on anything other than how badly she wanted to kiss Santana.

Just one kiss. Maybe two.

"Thank you, Santana." Brittany says simply. The brightest eyes Santana had ever seen bored into her soul and she felt like she was suffocating.

"What for?" Santana asks dumbly, Brittany's close proximity throwing her off. Brittany smiles, her nose crinkling with the action.

"For taking care of me." Brittany's voice was barely a whisper drifting into Santana's ears tauntingly.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Santana coughs awkwardly, standing up off the couch to put some space between her and the hurt look on Brittany's face.

"No-" Brittany tries to stand but a sharp pain in her side soon has her bent over gasping for breath. A headache of dizzying intensity almost has her on the floor but strong arms wrap around her waist before she can hit the ground.

"Woah, okay slow down." Santana struggles to lay Brittany down on the couch without dropping her. Brittany was kind of heavy in her state of semi-consciousness and Santana was pretty small.

She lays Brittany against the armrest of the couch so that she's in a comfortable sitting position where her ribs aren't pressed up against each other.

Without thinking—almost on instinct—Santana reaches for the hem of Brittany's shirt, warm tan hands quickly slipping under the material ready to lift it up.

Eyes widening, Santana snatches her hands back leaving them to hover just out of reach.

"Can I?" Santana asks gruffly. Brittany sits confused, pale cheeks tinged red.

"Wh-" Brittany clears her throat, the apparent dip in her voice making her blush further. "What?" She asks.

"I need to see how much damage was done." Santana pauses for a tense minute. "Lift your shirt up." She figured telling Brittany to lift it up instead of fully taking it off wouldn't seem as forward.

"Okay." Brittany quickly agrees, using her good wrist to tuck her thumb beneath her shirt and raise it without upsetting her injuries. Santana quietly gasps, trying her hardest not to make the injury seem worse than what it was.

"You need to see a doctor."

"I can't." Brittany quickly shuts that down, blue eyes widening in panic.

"You know I can't." Brittany continues, referring to what had happened earlier that day at the grocery store.

"How much pain are you in?" Santana asks, eyes roaming over the bruises with the diligence of trained professionals.

"Right now?" Russet swirling brown eyes drown in blue.

"None." Heat floods Brittany's cheeks at the confession. Santana smiles the smallest shyest smile Brittany has ever seen. A smile that was so uncharacteristic of Brittany's first impression of the fiery Latina.

"Liar." Santana mumbles bashfully.

The buzzing, however dull it was, was there humming away in Brittany's chest.

"I don't want to wrap you completely up," Santana mumbles thoughtfully, reaching forward—again on instinct—to tickle the tips of her fingers against the heated bruised skin just below Brittany's third rib. Brittany jolts, pain shooting down her side with the action.

"I'm sorry." Santana apologizes profusely.

"S'okay. I'm ticklish there." Brittany says quietly, eyes cast down at Santana's slowly re-approaching curious hands. Brittany's fingers start tingling, and the skin around her eyes begins to itch.

"But I do think we need to put some ice on this." Santana moves away towards the kitchen and Brittany's pulse slows as Santana's scent drifts further away.

A few seconds later, she comes back with a small bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel.

"Stand up." Santana demands softly. If Brittany wanted to keep her lung from collapsing and save herself from a bunch of pain then she needed to keep those airways nice and open, not cramped up on the couch.

With the help of Santana's shoulder she stands, but not without leaning heavily into Santana's side. Santana positions Brittany in front of her, one arm slung over her shoulder for support and the other still keeping the shirt lifted. Almost like they were preparing to dance together.

"You ready?" Santana asks. Brittany nods, lifting her shirt a little further. When the ice meets Brittany's skin she shudders, the ice feeling all too cold yet perfectly soothing against her heated skin.

"How do you know about all this stuff?" Brittany asks, curious eyes momentarily trailing over the strong arms currently holding her up and the curve of Santana's neck. So much skin barely covered by the skimpy t-shirt stretched taut across Santana's chest and incredibly toned stomach.

"My father…" Santana pauses, about to continue until Rachel and Quinn came storming out of the back.

"Quinn, I can't deal with your drama right now! I have enough of my own as it is!" Rachel screeched, whirling on Quinn when she lets slip two sensitive words.

"What did you say!?" Rachel yells.

"_Nothing, _treasure trail." Quinn responds venomously.

"Ugh. Grow up, Quinn!" Rachel snaps back, the hurt evident in her eyes. She turns to them, eyes immediately snapping to Santana's hand up Brittany's shirt.

"Umm." Santana drawls nervously.

"She got me some ice for my side." Brittany takes over for Santana.

Quinn storms around the room, snatching up her stuff and heading for the door.

"Are you okay, B?" Quinn turns back, the fire momentarily fading from behind hazel eyes.

"Yeah, thanks Quinn." Brittany smiles, Quinn didn't mean anyone any harm she was just a little headstrong.

"I'll call you soon, alright?" Quinn stilled, halfway out the door.

"Okay." Brittany nodded and with that Quinn disappeared.

"Santana, are you okay with staying with Brittany for a little while longer? I need to go tell Mercedes what's going on and then I need to get some rest. Early rehearsals tomorrow." Rachel rambled on.

"Yeah sure." Santana quickly agreed and Brittany smiled at how eager she was…it was kind of hot, Santana wanting to take care of her and all. Brittany rolled her eyes at herself.

"I'll be back to check on you first thing in the morning. Tell Tina not to worry too much." Rachel looked directly at Brittany who just nodded and Rachel left soon after.

Now they were alone, well except for Tina who had locked herself up in her room. Santana had been quiet for a while and Brittany wondered if something was wrong. She turned to see what the problem was only to come face to face with Santana's lips just centimeters away from her own.

They were moving, that much she could see but she wasn't listening at all.

"What?" Brittany asked staggering forward a little, somehow mesmerized by the luscious full lips in front of her.

Santana chuckled, the raspy sound rumbling in her chest.

"I said," she licked her lips. "Do you want to lay down?" Brittany snapped her eyes up at that. A wicked look slithered across Santana's face and Brittany almost stopped breathing.

_Almost. _

She _was_ feeling a little lightheaded though. Santana frowned, noticing how out of it Brittany seemed and she began shuffling her towards the couch.

"Maybe you _should_ lay down." Santana says as she shifts to rest Brittany down on the couch. Brittany clutches onto Santana's arms when she feels herself slipping.

"It's okay, I got you." Santana quickly reassures Brittany that she won't drop her, instead laying her down slowly.

"I'm sorry," Brittany whispered sleepily, the small chuckle rumbling in her chest sending butterflies down Santana's spine as their bodies still laid flush against each other.

"For what?" Santana asks, settling against Brittany since her arms were trapped behind Brittany's back. She gets caught up in hooded blue eyes and a perfect lazy smile.

"I'm always such a mess around you." Brittany says weakly, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt so tired all of a sudden. It was like she drained all of her energy and needed to charge up again. Santana frowns when Brittany stops talking. She listens for breathing and is soon relieved to hear the steady puffs of breath that escape Brittany's lips. She had fallen asleep.

"Who are you, Brittany S. Pierce?" Santana whispered, pulling her arm out from underneath Brittany's slumbering body to push a stray stand of blonde hair out of her face.

* * *

Bleary eyes struggling to focus as sleep evaded her senses, Brittany woke up to the comfy pressure of a warm body wrapped tight around her frame. A smooth caramel cheek rested heavily against her chest. Strong arms tucked beneath Brittany's body tensed for just a second, squeezing their bodies closer together as the softest of sighs escaped full parted pink lips.

Brittany returned the embrace, lazily tracing patterns and letters into the thin material of Santana's t-shirt. As the t-shirt rode further up at Brittany's ministrations, nimble fingers caressed the heated skin there. Small pulses of energy ebbed from the tips of Brittany's fingers slowly stirring Santana from her sleep.

Brittany felt so much better than she had yesterday, her ribs weren't aching at all despite Santana lying on top of her and the throbbing in her temples had disappeared.

"Good morning." Brittany mumbled, her voice hoarse from sleep—or at least that's what she was trying to convince herself it was, instead of the fact that Santana was all over her and it was making her heart act funny.

She watched Santana slowly come to the realization that she wasn't in her own bed and was in fact snuggled up in Brittany's arms. Brittany could pick up the smallest change in Santana's heartbeat. Tired eyes widened in panic and Santana was awake almost immediately. Brittany smiled.

"I'm sorry." Santana was preparing to lift herself off Brittany and her tender ribs, not intending to have fallen asleep on Brittany and make her feel uncomfortable.

"It's okay, stay." Brittany softly grabbed ahold of the edge of Santana's shirt and held fast. Brittany's smile brightened when Santana didn't even argue—she was too tired to, instead resuming her position snuggled up against Brittany's body—albeit a little awkwardly.

"Am I hurting you?" Santana shifted around on the couch, trying to find the best way to lie down without pressing into Brittany's side.

"No." Brittany whispered, heart skipping a beat when Santana looked up and honed in on her face, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Brittany asked self-consciously. It was the lack of something on her face that had Santana perplexed.

"Your gash," Santana brushed her fingers up against where the cut used to be on Brittany's forehead. "It's gone." She said, her astonished brown eyes not leaving the trail her fingers burned against Brittany's skin.

"Oh." Brittany panicked, knowing that a gash that big disappearing overnight wasn't too common.

"I'm a quick healer." Brittany lied.

"Really?" Santana questioned, something in her voice giving away the fact that she didn't believe a word Brittany had said.

"Yeah." Brittany smiled a terse smile, a twitch of her lip giving away her lie.

Liar was just at the tip of Santana's tongue and ready to roll off until her phone began to vibrate against the coffee table beside them.

A text from Holly asking where she was, flashed across her screen and suddenly Santana was up off the couch, rushing towards the door.

"Ugh, I'm gonna be late for work. Again." Santana sighed, quickly typing up a message to send back to Holly.

"Where are you going?" Brittany quickly sat up, immediately missing the warmth from Santana. The action didn't even upset her ribs. Maybe she _was_ a quick healer. Duh, her powers had to be the reason.

Santana paused, wondering why Brittany needed to know. It's not like they were best friends or anything. But then again, people who weren't friends didn't wake up in each other's arms…twice.

Deny, deny, deny. Santana repeated it in her head.

"Umm, I have a meeting I need to be at, at six." Santana said awkwardly.

"Will you be back?" Brittany asked softly, hoping that Santana would say yes and dreading that she would never come back, because she thought Brittany was some kind of needy loser freak that healed quicker than humanly possible.

"Sure." Santana frowned, thoughtful for a second and out the door less than a minute later.

* * *

"Sweet cheeks! Thank god you're here." Holly came rushing out from behind the front desk, folders and papers piled in her arms. She actually looked a little nervous.

"Yeah, sorry I'm late." Santana readjusted her skirt, sweeping off a small piece of lint on her white button up blouse.

"Hey?" Holly paused, staring at Santana's face intensely.

"What?" Santana asked nervously, readjusting her black-rimmed glasses. She left her contacts on the bathroom sink this morning.

"I didn't know you wore glasses." Holly smiled.

"Yeah, whatever." She always got defensive when people tried to make jokes.

"Hey, Santana." Artie whizzed by, throwing a greeting over his shoulder, head still buried in his laptop.

"It's hot." Holly shrugged, smirking when Santana didn't immediately follow when she started walking again.

"Okay, so what's going on?" Santana grumbled as she texted Mercedes, who kept asking her about last night.

"Sales are down on our new shipments. Sue is still furious and wants us to work an entirely different media pitch. A new one." Holly sighed, the looming amount of work overhead tiring her out already.

"Why does this have anything to do with me?" Santana snapped and Holly took it in stride.

Holly stopped, turning to face Santana.

"Sugar Motta is flying in and will be here in about an hour. Sue wants you to convince her to have her father take us on, become our partner. The man's a genius." Holly listed off in rehearsed fashion.

"S-Sugar Motta?" Santana breathed, now feeling incredibly nervous.

"Yes." Holly smiled. "You'll do fine, chica. Maybe you can invite her out for some tacos later." Holly joked, eyes widening comically.

"Is something wrong?" Santana asked just about to turn around, but she heard her before she saw her.

"You have no fashion sense whatsoever and I hate you. Not Asperger's." Sugar ended the call abruptly, handing the phone over to her assistant to have him hang up and rolling her eyes when he didn't get there fast enough.

"She's early." Holly mumbled, gnawing on her lip.

"Kurt, schedule a spa retreat for all of tomorrow, these phone calls are breaking me out." Sugar whined, breezing right past Santana and Holly like they didn't exist.

"Oh." Sugar stopped suddenly and turned to Kurt like she'd just realized something. Santana and Holly both held their breath. "Invite a few of my friends as well. I don't want to be alone when that creep has his hands all over me." She continued.

"Sugar…you fired all your friends last week." Her clean-cut, baby faced assistant looked flustered for a minute. He picked at a loose string fraying from his patterned cardigan.

"Richie Bitch." Santana mumbled to Holly who quickly nodded in agreement.

"Well then hire some more." Sugar said matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Daddy will put them on his black card." She squealed, excited that she wouldn't have to spend her own money.

"O-okay." Her assistant agreed hesitantly, typing away on the blackberry cell in his hands.

"Now." Sugar sighed disinterestedly. "Where is this meeting supposed to be?" She swiveled on her heel, head turning in every direction looking for some huge sign to point the way.

Santana cleared her throat loudly, gaining Sugar and her assistant's attention in the process.

"Sugar Motta?" Santana asked politely, despite already knowing who she was.

"Yes." Sugar drawled, oversized pink glasses resting low on her nose as she peered over them at Santana.

"I'm Santana Lopez. I'm supposed to be the one you're meeting today." Santana introduced herself.

"Ohh." Sugar smiled brightly, verging on creepy. "You're cute, maybe I'll actually pay attention this time."

"Umm, thank you." She wasn't really sure how to respond.

"Right this way." Santana continued, motioning for Sugar to follow behind her.

"I like your glasses too." Sugar complemented and Kurt quickly agreed. "They're hot."

"Told you." Holly mumbled in Santana's ear.


	6. Agent Rayman

_A/N: _Hi, I've finally found the time to post the update. A bunch of...interesting stuff has been going on in my life lately and I regretfully got sidetracked, so I apologize. However, to make up for it I've included a few things in this chapter that will move the story along in to some action.

Also thank you to all who have favorited, alerted, followed or reviewed. You're awesome and it really motivates me to write and continue. I appreciate feedback.

_Disclaimer:_I don't own Glee or it's characters.

* * *

"Wally?" Brittany mumbled into the two-way strapped against her backpack.

"_Yes."_ Wally's familiar voice crackled in from the other side, quiet and more reserved than usual. None the less it warmed Brittany's soul and the comfort of familiarity—especially in these confusing times, made her feel all the better.

"Are you okay?" Brittany paused, flitting out from behind the fridge door as she dropped a few bottles of distilled water into her bag.

"_Yeah."_ The mirth returned to his voice. "_I'm just wondering why you can't call me on the phone like a normal human being."_ Brittany rolled her eyes at that.

"Why would I go through all the trouble of trying to find my phone when I have a nice walkie-talkie on my shoulder?" Brittany joked, rushing trough her front door and wrapping an extra jacket around her waist to hang loose from her lithe hips.

It was a nice day outside today and Brittany felt like it would be the perfect time to start snooping for some answers, especially after what had happened right after Santana left this morning. Brittany found herself almost blowing up the toaster when she came near it, the TV in her room wasn't working, and the lights flickered for a good half hour as Brittany sat yelling at the contestants on Jeopardy who couldn't seem to distinguish feline aids from feline kidney failure.

"_Why, might I ask, are you calling me on a such a fine day Miss Pierce?"_ Wally drawled, tone interrogative but curious.

"I wanted to visit you and mom." Brittany stated simply. Mrs. Jameson wasn't actually her mother by blood, but she was the closest Brittany was ever going to get to one and she played the role well.

"_Mhmm._" Wally mumbled skeptically.

"Okay." Brittany acquiesced. "And I wanted to talk to you." She took a deep breath. "About what happened a few weeks ago." There was a long silence after that, a pregnant pause.

"_Brittany…how have you been feeling lately?"_ Wally's tone, inquisitive, threw Brittany off a little because she felt like he knew about her powers somehow.

"Fine." The hesitance in her voice was glaring and she clutched tightly onto the drawstrings of her jacket.

"_I told you that you could take a break for a while and I'd still pay you." _Wally reprimanded her, not believing that Brittany was suddenly feeling better after having been near blown up less than two weeks ago.

"I-it doesn't feel right for me to still get paid and not be doing any-" Someone roughly shouldered Brittany as they bristled past her on the sidewalk, chin tucked against their chest and eyes cast downward.

"Excuse me." Brittany apologized despite her being the one who was rudely interrupted. The gloomy person didn't even acknowledge her existence, instead pulling their hood further down over their eyes.

"_Brittany? You still there?" _Wally's worried voice crackled through, knocking her out of her stupor. She leaned down against the two-way on her shoulder and mashed the small rectangular button on the side.

"Yeah." Her fingers prickled and her shoulders twitched. Something about talking to Wally over the walkie-talkie brought her back to what happened the day of the blast, and it didn't sit well on her chest.

"I think we should talk in person, okay?" Brittany suggested, throwing a suspicious glance over her left shoulder when the prickling became worse.

"_Yeah, alright." _Wally agreed.

Somewhere off in the distance the shutter on a camera flickered, capturing blonde hair billowing in the wind and long legs stretching out of blue and black bicycle tights beneath skimpy pink running shorts.

* * *

That feeling that continued to unsettle Brittany had her increasing her pace as she practically glided across the pavement, years of dancing making her steps light. Wally's place was about a thirty-minute walk from where she was, and was deep in the middle of downtown, where the bums tried to take your shoes.

As Brittany turned the corner, what she saw had her drawing back against the wall while crowds of tourists disguised the figure standing in the middle of it all. His black suit and gaudy black shades did nothing to camouflage his true purpose for being there though.

They were looking for her, that much Brittany knew. The government—on top of everything else—had Brittany down as a federal offender, a fugitive on the run.

Untying the jacket from around her waist, Brittany quickly slipped into it, throwing the hood over her head and ducking into the crowds as they cluttered the sidewalk and bustled in the loud streets. Everything was just a little too loud and it was making being discrete hard for Brittany. When her powers went on the fritz it was usually as a result of her state of being, and right now Brittany was a stomping elephant in a circus full of mice.

When she'd maneuvered herself out onto the very edge of the sidewalk, almost about to slip by the agent not so discretely surveying the scene, a loud honk from a nearby taxicab startled her. Her hands flew out to her sides on reflex and the current rocketing through her veins gave a nearby person a good shock.

"Hey! Watch it!" They yelled indignantly, throwing her a dirty look as they quickly sidestepped Brittany and scurried away.

This didn't go unnoticed by the shaded man, brooding among the crowd. He caught sight of Brittany's blue eyes flashing dangerously with adrenaline and electricity. Before he could put two and two together, Brittany took off into traffic among the taxicabs and slamming doors. The man followed quickly behind, shouting orders into his earpiece.

Vaulting across the hood of a black limo, Brittany almost lost her footing when the man got just close enough to snatch up the back of her hoodie.

"You thought you'd escape that easily." He breathed hotly against her neck as his grip tightened.

"Let. Me. Go." Brittany accentuated each word with a clenching of her jaw as she elbowed him in the side. Using the distraction of him bent over clutching at his stomach Brittany wrenched free, pumping her legs against the pavement harshly, the soles of her feet taking the brunt of the force. Honking horns drowned out the noise of her humming heart.

"Get back here!" The man yelled, too tight suit pants restricting his motion as he tried to catch up. Cutting down an ally with the quickness of a fleeing fugitive, Brittany only had a few seconds to throw a cautionary glance over her shoulder before the screech of tires and the smell of burned rubber fluttered across her senses, halting her dead in her tracks.

More agents flooded out of the black van that had successfully blocked Brittany into the alley. Backing up hesitantly and fingers sparking violently, she swept her eyes across the dingy scenery. Only spotting a few slumbering homeless people, dirty green dumpsters, and a couple ancient advertisements—

Brittany figured she should just give up now or risk revealing her powers.

Until.

She smirked, blue eyes squinting as she weighed her chances.

"Don't resist arrest Ms. Pierce. You're just making this harder for yourself." A plump face perpetually grimacing, directed a nonchalant threat her way. The man smoothed his uncoordinated sausage hands through receding thin dark brown hair. Brittany frowned, not recognizing the man that seemed to know who she was.

"Ken, move it along already. We have work to do." Someone mumbled exasperatedly.

"Look," Ken whirled on the man that had spoken up, chest puffing up as he readjusted the leather belt struggling to contain his gut. "I'm getting to my point you ninny, shut it before I shove my fist so far down your throat—" Brittany chose that specific moment in time to bolt, speeding across the alley to quickly vault up and onto a green dumpster.

"Great, Tanaka. You let her get away!"

"Shut up, you stood here and watched her run away. What were _you _doing?" Ken rebutted.

Hopping up and latching onto the rusted latter above her head, Brittany just barely pulled herself up before groping hands lunged for her feet but failed to grab hold. Once she got her footing set against the rickety fire escape, she began to ascend the stairs, taking two at a time to speed the process along.

The wind was howling, whipping her blonde hair wildly over her shoulder as the cool breeze cut against her skin. Unfortunately heavy footsteps were soon approaching behind her and before she'd given it a second thought, Brittany set her sights on an open window in an adjacent apartment building and took a leap of faith.

For a moment, everything sort of slowed down. Her fingers extended fully out in front of her became slow moving images right before her eyes. Brittany felt like she'd been suspended, falling through the air forever. Until the harsh reality that she might just plummet to her death hit her harshly in the chest and her heart sped up, moving time along with it.

She caught the ledge of the window by the edges of her fingers, nails digging helplessly into the splintered wood.

"Ugh! Ow, ow, ow." She cried as the wood drew blood. Keeping her arms straight and using the tips of her shoes for traction to scurry up the side, she finally pulled herself up. Brittany tumbled through the window with an unfamiliar clumsiness.

"Who are you?" Someone mumbled quietly from somewhere in the room that Brittany so conveniently found herself in. Brittany quickly swiveled on her heel, facing the voice with apologetic blue eyes. The person in question, clutched at the bat raised hesitantly in their hands.

"I'm so sorry." She was met with eyes almost identical in color.

"I'm leaving now." Brittany made to leave, pointing over her shoulder tensely.

"Marley? What's all that noise?" Someone else called, approaching through the hall to the left. Brittany chose that moment to quickly slip out through the front door.

Once back into the streets, hoodie pulled firmly over her head, Brittany ducked back into the massive crowds of people busied with getting to work or taking useless pictures for souvenirs.

"Spread out!" Ken Tanaka's voice boomed, as his men filed out from behind him like a swarm of bees. Brittany just couldn't catch a break. She increased her pace, just about to turn a corner when someone latched onto her shoulder.

"Gotcha." He whispered menacingly, hands tightening around her shoulder as the reek his sour breath that smelled of week old office coffee slithered from his lips.

Brittany closed her eyes, concentrating while the buzzing grew more intense in her chest. She stepped back, ducking her shoulder and forcing all her energy into the motion as she knocked Tanaka clean off his feet. Then she took off, cover officially blown.

"Are you okay?" One of Tanaka's men asked him quietly, trying to reserve what pride Ken still had left.

There was a pause, then a cry of pain.

"Of course I'm okay you idiot, get the girl!" Tanaka yelled, his statement not proving true since he had yet to get off the ground. His men took off; one in particular hobbling lamely because of the swift kick Tanaka delivered to his shin.

Brittany was about a block ahead of her pursuers and was relaxing the quicker she advanced towards safety, until something searing hot whizzed past her, catching her right across the shoulder. Just over the sound of her heart, she could hear the bullets shifting up into position from the magazine while the ones before them were fired right at her.

Her left eye twitched and she ducked just as another bullet exploded through the air right where her head used to be. Brittany quickened her pace, gaining just enough momentum to throw herself forward, stretching her body fully, arms extended out in front of her as she vaulted completely over some railing and into another deserted alley leading into a parking garage.

She transitioned into a bracing stance, tucking her shoulder and using the momentum of her jump to fall into a roll to lessen the impact of the landing.

"We need reinforcements!" Close voices shouted.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, quickly adjusting the strap of her bag against her chest. The gravel shifted uncomfortably beneath her feet as they pounded down against the ground.

All of the muscles around her shoulders and along her arms convulsed as the energy quickly building in her chest repelled against her body, clawing to be released.

Brittany's speed increased the closer she came to the end of the alley, it's exit sequestered by a rusting iron fence rigged with barbed wire. She had to think fast, alternate options, different routes all flickering behind her eyes.

An entrance to a parking garage was coming up just on her…left—or was it her right? It didn't matter because as she turned into the entrance, no less than three black trucks sped out in front of her, completely surrounding her.

She panicked, all scenarios flashing behind her eyes not satisfying her desire to get away.

"Thought you'd get away, did you?" Tanaka wheezed out, his hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

The agents slowly formed an enclosing circle around her, faces stoic and incredibly disconcerting.

"No." Brittany stated simply, face void of emotion. Although the underlying mirth in her statement lay in a slightly quivering lip tucked between sharp teeth to contain a smile. Something about being chased down by the world's worst out of shape FBI agent was funny to her.

"I was just waiting for you to catch up." She continued, shrugging her shoulders and wincing when the movement jarred the bullet still lodged in her shoulder.

"What?" Tanaka asked dumbly.

"Can we make a deal?" Brittany ran her fingers skittishly across the wound over her shoulder, the breeze fluttering strands of messy blonde hair across her face.

"If I go with you, could you get this bullet out of my shoulder?" Brittany asked, honestly hoping that he would say yes because it was painful to roll her shoulder even the slightest bit.

The circle of men shifted, opening up and quickly coming back together shoulder to shoulder as another figure stepped through.

"We don't make deals with criminals." A familiar voice drawled. Blue eyes widened. Letting her bout of shock show on her face revealed a weakness, and in a matter of seconds agents were all over her. Tugging her arms out to her sides, they cuffed her hands behind her back, tying her up like some pig.

"Ow! That hurts." Brittany pouted, wrists straining against the heavy metal cuffs. She threw her line of sight over her shoulder, quickly spotting a dusty blonde head of hair and a pair of blue eyes set deep within aged pale skin. Then everything went dark as a sack was wrenched over her head like a scene out of some bad mafia movie.

"Hey!" Brittany protests. She _wasn't _a criminal and didn't deserve to be treated like some thug. Dropping her shoulder into the nearest body she could sense, Brittany was satisfied when the impact seemed to sweep the man off his feet.

Straightening back up quick like lightening, Brittany threw her leg out in front of her, catching someone across the shin. The force of the kick threw her a little off balance and the fact that she couldn't see anything had her stumbling back into another body. Her hands—live like cut fuses—ate in to the man's uniform. The sparks at the tips of her fingers set the rough material of the suit on fire.

"What the hell!" The man screamed, his girly cries falling on deaf ears, as the circle seemed to pounce on Brittany all at once. A rough blow to Brittany's head brought the fight to a quick unsatisfying end though as strong arms caught her collapsed body.

"Mister President?" Tanaka mumbled tentatively, trying to gain his attention.

"You can call me Russell, Ken." His bemusing tone unbefitting of the serious situation.

"Y-yes. Mister Fabray? What do we do now?"

"Now it's time for the fun part. " Russell grumbled sarcastically.

"Interrogation." His tone wasn't very convincing.

* * *

It was _dark_. That much Brittany could obviously decipher.

The air was heavy and stale against her skin, unmoving and unsettling. She flexed her hands against their cold confines, the smooth railing of the chair she was strapped to strangely calming her. A burlap sack that she assumed was what was thrown over her head, sat on the pristine mahogany table in front of her.

She swiveled her head from left to right, blue eyes quickly dilating as they adjusted to the lack of light. Her superhuman powers gave her the ability to see small movements in the pitch black.

"I can see you." She said simply, her quiet voice amplified by the stillness, ricocheting off the empty walls like bullets.

A single harsh light shone on her in the middle of the room. The _only _source of light was burning down on her, casting an eerie glow against her skin and blonde wisps of hair.

For a while, the only thing Brittany could sense was another beating heart besides her own racing one. Feet shuffled against the dusty concrete floor as they moved closer, not coming even an inch up off the ground. It was irritating. She clenched her jaw.

"Brittany S. Pierce." All the blood drained from her face.

"How ya doin' buddy?" Puck smiled, his hair having grown out during his deployment over seas, and the Mohawk was now gone. There was something incredibly unsettling about seeing a man like Noah Puckerman, in a suit.

Brittany gaped, an incredulous look remaining on her face as Puck continued to grin. The swinging lamp above them flickered, Brittany's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Whoa okay calm down, Brittany. I'm not here to hurt you." Puck moved his hands up in surrender as he took a seat, readjusting the red tie around his shirt collar.

"You can't say the same for Quinn." Brittany mumbled. She wasn't angry, just incredibly saddened at the absolute lack of emotion.

Puck's façade quickly vanished at the mention of his baby's mama, a look akin to actual sincerity passing through his jaded hazel eyes before completely disappearing.

It was a sad sight to see.

Puck no longer had a voice, smothered by a constraining tie that seemed to tighten with every foreign emotion that conflicted with the objective—whatever was considered important. That was what had been drilled into him and now it was like that was all he knew and felt comfortable with.

His humanity—what made him who he was—was slowly slipping through his calloused fingers.

"I need your help." Puck quickly got to the point, dropping the act of trying to be friendly and showing who he truly was, who he had become.

"Why should I help?" It was an honest question, blue eyes searching for a reason to trust the stranger standing before her. Her stomach twisted at the fact that this was the same question Quinn had asked her earlier.

"I'm not asking for your help." Puck rephrased, sweeping a hand out from behind his back to toss a thick manila folder on to the dark mahogany table.

"You're gonna have to go along with this whether you like it or not. I just wanted you to feel comfortable." Puck continued. Brittany scoffed, clutching at the arms of the chair she was confined to.

The light swinging above them flickered again and Puck sent a nervous glare her way, jittery fingers fumbling with the dog tags in his pocket.

"I really wish you'd stop showing yourself, Brittany."

"What do you mean 'showing myself?'" Brittany mimicked Puck.

"Everyone else may _seem _oblivious. But you could practically be shouting your powers from the rooftops." Puck shuffled over to where Brittany was sitting, her arms still restrained.

Rough hands brushed against the metal contraptions wrapped around her wrists. In a matter of seconds they were taken off and Puck swiftly shifted back across the table behind the chair, eyes drawn to Brittany's increasingly twitching fingers.

"How do you know about that?" She wasn't angry, but she _was _upset.

"We've been following you for quite some time now." At this, Brittany turned her attention to the worn manila folder set in front of her. Sure enough, notes detailing her every move and pictures to go along, sat neatly arranged by order of occurrence.

"What is this?" Brittany demanded, trying to sound defiant but the crack in her voice giving away her utter disbelief. How had something so intrusive been going on right under her nose?

"Exactly the problem, Brittany." Puck sighed, scraping the chair out from beneath the table to take a seat.

"You need to be able to notice when you're being watched or followed if this is going to work, Rayman." Puck continued, sliding a few of the pictures away in order to get to the documents underneath.

"Don't call me that." Brittany mumbled, tears not noticeable brewing deep within her eyes.

"Whatever, just hear me out o—" Puck's sentence ended abruptly when Brittany had decided she'd had enough and threw all of her anger in to a single infuriated punch across his face. The electricity humming through her body calmed just a little when it was released on Puck's face.

It sent him flying out of his chair that tipped over and banged against the hard floor.

"What do you mean 'if this is going to work?'" Brittany mimicked Puck again. Not at all caring about the quickly blackening bruises forming across his cheek. He didn't even have the decency to wipe the blood trickling from his split cheek away as he sat himself calmly back down in his chair.

"What the hell was that for?" He cried indignantly, hands thrown up above his head as if he were looking to pull the answers from out of thin air.

"_That _was for Quinn, you meanie." Brittany pouted, somewhat upset that she'd resorted to violence but two times upset that she had actually enjoyed it. Maybe because it was the fact that Puck was the person sat in front of her. If it was any other person, then she would let the anger roll off of her in waves just like any other day instead of acting on it.

"Real mature, Britta-" Puck rolls his eyes.

"What do you mean 'if this is going to work?'" Brittany repeats her question, cutting Puck off in the process.

"We're partners." He paused, voice trailing off when Brittany's knuckles paled white as they clutched at the armrests.

"Well not _technically _since you're not trained like I am but…" Puck grinned, completely misinterpreting the look on Brittany's face as excitement.

"Yeah, we're fighting crime together now. Isn't that what we've always wanted, Rayman?" Puck says offhandedly, focusing his attention on rifling through the stack of papers in Brittany's file.

"No, not really." Brittany groans, fingers digging in to her skull as she tries to sort out her thoughts. Everything was so confusing right now.

"_You _wanted to fight crime. I just wanted to be there to cheer you on." Brittany whispered.

Quinn too, Brittany thought but didn't voice aloud. But things don't always work out the way they should.

"It's okay. Everything will sort itself out tomorrow when we start training." Puck's face lights up when he seems to finally find what he was looking for in Brittany's file. He lifts up a thin sheet of paper.

There across the top was Brittany's name just above a blurb of text detailing her 'unofficial' employment with Homeland Security. A small 4x4 picture of Brittany sat next to a few words scrawled in hideous handwriting:

'Agent Rayman,' Brittany read, quickly rolling her eyes when she realized whose handwriting it was in.

Just great.

* * *

Brittany only has a few seconds to react when the burlap sack is snatched off her head, and she's shoved through two thick sliding van doors and out in to the harsh bright sunlight.

The black van soon speeds away; only leaving upturned asphalt and the smell of burned rubber behind. She dusts herself off as she pushes up off the ground, pulling on the baggy sweats set low on her hips. They forced her in to some longer pants and a sweatshirt since Puck didn't think her biking shorts were very inconspicuous.

Everything around her is business as usual, the same chaos completely unaffected by the fact that she was just tossed out of a creepy black van right in the middle of the city for everyone to see. Yet no one seemed to notice the commotion, or seem suspicious.

It was late in to the evening by the time Brittany found herself even remotely close to her apartment. Those jerks had just so conveniently dropped her off somewhere in the middle of Brooklyn. She could tell because she got turned around about ten times.

What was worse was that her walkie-talkie was gone and her bag had apparently been confiscated as well.

The Sun was smiling against the Earth as it began to set, painting the sky shades of purple, orange, and blue. Which was a stark contrast to the emotions raging away in Brittany's chest, and thumping against her ribcage.

This was around the time the city came alive. Shops would close up and most people would go home after a hard days work. But after that was when the characters would come out, looking for a good drunken time or a shady back alley hook up. Which was just…gross.

Turning onto a familiar corner that she knew would lead to her apartment, Brittany sensed something wasn't right. Maybe it was in the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, or chills shot up her arms and soon traveled down her spine. But something about the stagnant air that rest completely unperturbed in front of her was slightly off putting.

Then it hit her. In the form of an unsuspecting mother and her child settling in to their car as thieving eyes roamed over them with malicious intent.

Brittany glided back in to an alcove, hiding herself in the shadows as her heart raced at the sight before her. She rolled her stiff shoulder. The hole the bullet left was incredibly uncomfortable beneath the bandages.

It wasn't long before things went to shit. In a matter of seconds, fate took its course. The car thief shuffled up behind the occupied mother, catching her by surprise when she was shoved clear of the car door and on to the ground.

The screech the woman let out as the thief drove away with her toddler still in the car tugged at Brittany's heart, and she couldn't help it when it tugged her forward and in to action.

All Brittany could hear in her head as she lifted the nearest motorcycle she could find, was Quinn muttering "try no to get yourself killed" over and over again. She rolled the helmet resting on the seat around in her hands, quickly pulling it down over her head with a snug fit. Bless the people that never locked up their bikes properly. The helmet was a little small but it would do. It wasn't her bike after all.

This was definitely not the way to stay out of trouble. Brittany let the clutch up easy and twisted the accelerator after shifting gears out of neutral. As her speed increased, her senses heightened.

The woman's car was a midnight blue BMW X6 so it wasn't hard to miss, speeding and swerving amongst the see of limos, yellow taxicabs, and tour buses. The wind cut across her chest, causing her heart to pump harder. By the time Brittany actually caught up to the car the cops had been alerted to the theft, and blue and red flashing lights flanked Brittany on either side.

Streets cleared as the chase ensued, Brittany somewhere in the middle of all the chaos—as usual. The sun had completely set, and the reflection of distorted streetlights flickered across the black visor of her helmet as she revved the accelerator, and pushed the motorcycle to go faster.

A particularly brave police officer sped out in front of Brittany to get close to the runaway BMW, but unfortunately miscalculated the amount of space he'd need and promptly flipped the cop car trying to swerve away from oncoming traffic.

Brittany closed her hand around the clutch, slowing down just enough to cut away from the flipped police car and back in pursuit of the BMW. Years of motocross competitions had taught her a few tricks. Although things were a little different when it came to dirt bikes and regular motorcycles.

Pulling right up to the back passenger side door of the BMW, Brittany tapped on the window as discreetly as possible to get the little boys attention. Wide panicked brown eyes quickly locked on Brittany's and her heart tugged just that much further. She stuck her thumb up, trying to reassure the boy that everything was going to be fine. He nodded, eyes not returning back to normal size nonetheless.

Brittany frowned, contemplating how she was going to get this done. Then her mind flickered back to the time when she came out of the shower and rested her hand on the TV. She smiled, slamming her hand against the side of the hybrid car and watching as all the energy surged out of the battery and licked up her arm. The car could still keep going without the battery but not for too long at a sustainable speed.

As it began to eventually slow down, Brittany came to a halt with it. She abandoned the stolen bike and yanked the car door open, quickly going for the car seat with the eerily calm but red-faced toddler housed there.

She heard it before she saw it, the click of a bullet settling in to place ready to fire. Before the thief could push the trigger in, she twisted her arm out in front of herself and the toddler. A wall of pulsing blue energy surged out from her arms like a shield, sending the bullets ricocheting away from them and through the front window of the BMW.

Brittany grimaced, that was going to be expensive to fix. Deciding to opt out of calmly unbuckling the child, Brittany clamped her hands down on either side of the car seat while the thief was distracted gawking at what had just happened. Energy surged to the tips of her fingers, melting the straps securing the car seat to the regular seats. She lifted the boy quickly out of the car and unbuckled him, pushing him behind her legs as the thief gathered himself.

"W-What are you?" The man cried, hand shaking and unsteady as they held tightly onto the gun. A gun pointed directly at Brittany's chest.

"Stay behind me." Brittany whispered to the little boy already clutching at her sweats. She felt movement against her leg and assumed it was the boy nodding his head.

"W-what are you whispering?" The man called again. Brittany shifted so that the boy was out of the line of fire as cop cars flooded the area, completely surrounding her and the hopeless man shaking in front of her. A few curious—okay more like a lot of—onlookers waited on baited breath to watch how things would unfold…or explode. Either one.

This seemed familiar, Brittany frowned behind her helmet.

"Put the gun down, sir or we will be forced to shoot!" One cop yelled from behind his squad car, body squatted low in case bullets were exchanged. Not really all that threatening.

"Don't or I'll shoot." The man jostles the gun in Brittany's general direction and she flinches, wishing that he'd take his finger off the trigger. The little boy at her leg starts to sob and Brittany looks down, momentarily distracted for only a second.

But a second too long. She feels rough hands on her shoulders and her center of balance is thrown completely out of whack. She grips the arms holding on to her shoulders and sweeps her leg out and to the side so the little boy is securely positioned behind her.

"Hold your fire! There's an innocent civilian and child right there!" Someone yelled and Brittany panicked. She couldn't reveal her powers in front of all these people but she also couldn't let the little boy clutching helplessly at her leg get hurt.

Throwing all of the energy shaking against her frame in to a single hard push, gives her just enough space to throw a punch and catch the man right across the cheek, splitting the skin there on his face and across her knuckles.

He stumbles and Brittany takes the opportunity to kick her other leg out—not occupied by a tiny shaking frame—and bring the man to his knees grasping at his twisted leg as he writhes in pain on the ground. Taking the opportunity to escape, Brittany scoops the little boy up in her arms and leaves the ring of squad cars as cops storm past her to detain the man.

Brittany quickly finds the little boys mother being consoled by an officer, and she smiles beneath the black visor of the helmet. The little boy giggles in Brittany's arms and her smile widens. It was like he'd completely forgotten about almost being kidnapped and had already put it behind him. She squeezes him closer to her chest, his small body reminding her of someone she used to know.

"Mamí!" The little boy threw his arms out to grasp at the air.

"Diego." The woman breathes, tears falling down her tanned full cheeks as Brittany transitions the little boy in to the awaiting woman's arms.

Brittany is just about to turn away while everyone's distracted so she can slip away unnoticed until someone calls out to her.

"Hey? Wait." The tanned woman smiles at Brittany, tears dried but eyes still red.

Brittany nods, tilting her head waiting for whatever the woman had to say. The woman opens her mouth to speak but she's cut off by another voice.

It sounded incredibly familiar to Brittany. She's pretty sure she'd been dreaming about that raspy voice for the past week.

"Mama, what happened? I came as soon as possible, and I got shit for it from Sue." Santana rushes up to the group, eyes red and cheeks flushed angry crimson. She runs her hands all over the little boy, Diego's, face to look for any cuts or injuries. Santana gives a wet smile when Diego just chuckles and swats at her hands playfully.

Brittany stands stock still in shock, not really sure what to do since Santana doesn't know about her powers, and Brittany doesn't think Santana would approve of her chasing down cars in robberies. Then she remembers that her identity is hidden behind the anonymity of the helmet.

"Watch your mouth Santana. Everything's fine now thanks to this one." The older woman nods in Brittany's direction and it's almost as if everything happens in slow motion as Santana turns around. Her black hair flowing over her shoulder as her eyes connect with Brittany's.

Brittany quickly ducks her head and toes at the gravel, afraid that those searching brown eyes would be able to see right through the midnight black visor.

"Don't be embarrassed." Santana says, the mirth evident in her voice as she slowly approaches.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done i-if…" Santana trails off darkly and Brittany grabs her hands, squeezing them quickly as a way of saying 'you're welcome.'

Santana rolls her eyes at herself for getting emotional in front of a stranger. She squeezes Brittany's hands back and Brittany just about boots her heart out of her chest.

She drops their hands and backs away, preparing to leave until she's called on once again.

"Wait." A familiar wicked look slithers across Santana's face and Brittany's taken by surprise at how close she gets until she's just about nose-to-nose—or to helmet—with Brittany.

"Are you gonna take the helmet off so I can see who saved my little brother?" Santana rasps, the question seemingly innocent but having an entirely different effect on Brittany.

Clapping and cheering. Brittany can hear it clearly now, almost as if it had been drowned out before. She swivels her head from left to right, seeing as the crowds that had gathered slowly came alive, cheering and shouting rowdily.

"That's how we do it in New York!" Someone yelled from the crowd and an insurgence of 'heck yeahs' and 'damn rights' soon followed in agreement. Brittany's smile just about splits her face as she gets caught up in the applause, she's glad she can hide behind this helmet because her ears are about as crimson as her hands are after a game of red hands.

She feels a tug on her sweater and snaps her head down to see Santana's tan fingers wrapped around her bicep.

"So…?" Santana trails off, sneaking her hands towards the black matte helmet.

Brittany shakes her head 'no' and Santana—Santana, actually pouts like she's disappointed.

_Not yet_, Brittany echoes in her head.

Brittany takes a definitive step back, her mind made up now more than ever. Telling Santana about her powers was going to be the absolute last thing she ever did.

* * *

Once she's turned into an alley and away from curious eyes, Brittany removes the black helmet and takes in a gasping breath as her blonde hair flops messily down around her shoulders.

"Jesus." Brittany breathes, jamming her clammy fingers through her messed hair as she approaches her apartment building.

By the time she stumbles through the front door—making sure not to wake her slumbering roommate—and tosses her sweatshirt in the closet, leaving her sweatpants on as she collapses on the couch. No less than three minutes later her heavy eyelids drift closed.

It has to be about 12AM when Brittany wakes up in the same position she fell asleep on the couch in. The quiet of a sleeping apartment unsettles her, and she raises the volume on the TV to serve as background noise since she didn't actively watch television unless it was for movies or game shows.

There was a knock on the door and Brittany had to shake her head and wait for a second knock to confirm she wasn't having hallucinations caused by sleep deprivation. Her eyes drifted to Lord Tubbington resting on the coffee table swishing his tail from left to right in time with the ticking clock.

"I'm coming." Brittany mumbled when the knocks became more incessant. She turned the knob and swung the door open, the fresh breeze from outside only serving to dizzy her further at the sight of the moonlight shadowing Santana's face.

"Hey." Bright teeth uncovered by a small smirk. Brittany just stared. "Brittany?" Santana questioned, brow furrowing and smile faltering for a second.

"Oh, hey." Brittany snapped out of it, eyes still roaming the shadows curved along Santana's defined features. Momentarily distracted, she leaned up against the doorframe, hand gripping the door for support, mind still dreaming.

"I said I'd come back." Santana stated simply, brown eyes seemingly unsure as she surveyed the scene insecurely since Brittany still had yet to invite her in.

"Yeah," Brittany smiled "come in." She moved away from the threshold watching diligently as Santana glided right past, her balance wavering a little, the motion wafting up the smell of her shampoo right across Brittany's face.

"I couldn't sleep." Santana paused, thinking about the reason _why _she couldn't sleep. The man—or woman, from earlier that had saved her little brother was still on her mind. Something about them was so familiar and yet so new at the same time.

When Santana had gotten closer to the masked figure, she could just sense it. You know? There's always an indicator that just sets off the senses when you're around familiarity. Was it déjà vu? No…it was a bit more complicated than that. Images of Brittany, her blue eyes, her blonde hair, and her long legs kept popping up in her head overlapping her vision of the figure in the motorcycle helmet from earlier.

Santana hadn't realized that she'd been staring intensely at Brittany's face until they were standing directly in front of each other.

"Santana?" Brittany whispered, fingers jittery and fluttering, anxious to thread themselves in Santana's.

"Yeah?" Santana nodded, deep eyes distant.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly. Then Santana snapped out of it, pulling back immediately when she realized what she was doing. She just nodded meekly, eyes zoning in on the small white patch of material wrapped across Brittany's shoulder.

"What happened here?" Santana ran the tips of her fingers against the bandages, unknowingly sending shocks of her own all along Brittany's skin. Brittany shrugged, the action causing her to wince in pain as the motion irritated the fresh wound. Santana's face turned grim when she saw the look that flickered across azure eyes.

"Turn around." She had said it in a way that wasn't to be taken as a request but as a demand.

"It's fine." Brittany panicked, eyes widening slightly.

"No, Brittany. Let me see." Her eyes hardened with finality.

Brittany took a tentative step back, but Santana also stepped forward. Not wasting any more time, Santana ran her hand down Brittany's forearm to thread their fingers together and halt the game of cat and mouse that had been initiated. Mocha tan fingers tightened around peach ones as the current flowing through Brittany's body tickled up along Santana's arm.

"Really, Santana I'm fin—" Brittany tried to assure Santana that she wasn't in any serious pain.

"Just show me. _Please._" The look in her eyes was intense, and Brittany crumbled beneath it.

"Okay." Brittany flicked the light switch on, concentrating hard not to blow all of the lights out as energy continued to rocket through her veins.

Santana had Brittany sit down on the couch facing away from her so that the bandages on her back were in plain sight.

"Should I ask?" Santana inquired as she gently picked at the bandages, smoothing her fingers along the swollen hot skin surrounding the wound.

"No." Brittany tensed, wincing at how harsh her voice came out sounding, and how Santana's soft caresses momentarily ceased against her skin.

"Sorry." Brittany quietly apologized.

"It's whatever." Santana went back on the defensive, her fingers resuming their motions against Brittany's skin.

"Can I take it off?" Her voice was low and riddled with something Brittany couldn't place.

"Yeah, go ahead." Blonde wisps of hair fell in to her face as she quickly nodded.

Santana—with care Brittany had never experienced before—slowly peeled the bandage away and the small gasp wasn't lost on Brittany who immediately tried to turn away from piercing eyes in embarrassment.

"No, you don't have to hide from me." Santana whispered, pressing a firm hand against the shoulder that wasn't wounded to stop Brittany from turning away.

Her body was still incredibly tense even as Santana soothed nimble fingers against the knots in her shoulders.

_You don't have to hide from me._ If only she knew, Brittany thought.

"Who bandaged this up for you?" Santana questioned, because it wasn't done well since there was still dirt around the area and the gauze had already been soaked through. She also knew all too well about Brittany's aversion to hospitals.

"I went to an old friend for some help." Brittany lied…well she was telling half the truth. Puck wasn't really a friend anymore but he had helped her out.

"You need to change these bandages," Santana mumbled so quietly it seemed that she only intended for her ears to hear but that was impossible since Brittany had the sensitivity of trained canines, and then some.

"Where's your rubbing alcohol?" Brittany furrowed her brows in confusion for a moment, the question of why Santana knew so much about this kind of medical stuff just on the tip of her tongue. But then it was gone, tucked away at the back of her mind for another time.

"It's in the bathroom, down the hall on the…left I think." Brittany trailed off. She had always struggled with differentiating her left from her right.

While she was caught up she didn't notice the small smile Santana had quickly hidden beneath a frown as she went to find something to clean Brittany's shoulder with.

"Okay, relax." Santana sat down behind Brittany, the cushions of the couch dipping a little as she shifted closer to Brittany's humming body.

It was silent for all of three seconds.

Brittany's eyes widened and the searing pain that shot across her back as the strong liquid was poured over her wound had her jerking in pain.

"_Holy—!" _Brittany shouted, the stinging becoming all too much for her to even finish what she was saying as she bit in to the flesh of her bottom lip.

The lights flickered.

"Ow." Brittany whispered painfully. The stinging eased up as Santana pulled the bottle away to dab at the surrounding area with a clean cloth.

"Sorry." Her voice was strained and Brittany glanced over her shoulder only to catch the look of pain that crossed Santana's features.

"Hey?" Brittany called out and frightened brown eyes snapped up to meet hers. "I'm okay." Brittany soothed while smiling and Santana nodded, breaking eye contact with her soon after.

Santana stood up, putting her hand out for Brittany to take. "Come on." She nodded her head over her shoulder and Brittany followed.

* * *

"Brittany." Santana breathed, the smile in her eyes not making the pain any better—okay maybe a little. "You have to stop squirming or I might just mess up your shoulder permanently." Santana quipped, slowly running a hot towel across the soap covering the wound.

"But it hurts." Brittany pouts at Santana's reflection in the bathroom mirror—the perfect picture of concentration as she cared for Brittany's injury.

"Well it won't for much longer." Santana taped fresh gauze across the wound and Brittany sighed in relief. Their eyes met in the mirror and Brittany's heart fluttered when warm fingers rested low on her lithe hips. Santana's eyes darkened and Brittany gasped when she felt plump lips press against the shoulder that wasn't bandaged.

A strong tan arm slipped around Brittany's waist from behind and pulled her back as the kisses against her shoulder became heated. She whimpered when Santana ran her scorching tongue the length of her neck, stopping to growl in her ear as she moved her hips against Brittany's backside.

Brittany jerked her hips back, closing her eyes tight when she'd caught Santana's eyes in the mirror staring at what her touch was doing to Brittany's body and smirking wickedly. It was all too much to handle all at the same time.

Santana moaned as the jerk of Brittany's body met with her steadily moving hips.

When their eyes met again, Brittany wasn't aware of what happened in the next few seconds. All she could register was flipping Santana around to push her in and up on to the sink, her lips pressing fervently against the heated flesh of Santana's neck, and the moans rumbling from her throat.

"Ugh. Bri…Britttany." The breathless moan slips from naturally pouty pink lips.

Santana tilts her head back ever so slightly, silently inviting Brittany to explore the expanse of heated skin along her neck. Brittany readily complies, dusting panting open-mouthed kisses along Santana's jaw and traveling down to the base of her neck and defined clavicle.

Sliding out the band in silky midnight hair, Brittany releases raven tresses to let them billow down around Santana's shoulders. Brittany slips her fingers in to smooth hair as she moves the caress of her lips back to Santana's face.

"Kiss me." Santana sighs out breathlessly when pink lips are just a few centimeters shy of her own.

Brittany paused, pulling back to look Santana in the eyes properly.

"You're so beautiful." Brittany whispered, voice hoarse but no less awestruck at the sight before her. Santana's hair tousled and mussed by eager hands ready to please.

Time seems to stand still as Brittany slips her tongue out to wet her lips. Santana follows her tongue with focused brown eyes, brow furrowed and swollen lip tucked harshly between her perfect teeth. The grip around her waist tightens and the look in her eyes grows heavier with need.

Brittany is cautious and gentle when she finally presses her lips to Santana's, but that soon changes when the emotions and feelings surging in the current rocketing through her body—that she'd previously kept under control—gets a newfound energy.

Santana feels like the breath from her lungs is literally stolen from her lips and she can't breath for a matter of seconds before she jerks back from pink lips, clutching uselessly at her chest and gasping wide-eyed at Brittany who still has her eyes closed in a daze, a satisfied smile ghosting across her face.

She presses her fingers against her sensitive lips that tingle at the brush of her thumb. Brittany snaps her eyes open when Santana starts moving away from her, fingers still pressed firmly to her lips in astonishment.

"Oh my god." Santana whispers to herself, as if the kiss had snapped her out of whatever haze she'd been in and let her come to the realization that she had just kissed Brittany and wanted to go further.

Yeah, it's not like Santana wasn't a sexually promiscuous being but that only applied to one night stands and people she would never see again. Not her blonde blue eyed neighbor that she'd have to see everyday if she messed things up, which—based on her track record—she did often when it came to 'feelings.'

She didn't want feelings, she just wanted sex and to have a little fun. It was easier that way.

"Santana?" Brittany's voice is hoarse and raspy from the kiss and it serves to make leaving harder for Santana.

"Holy shit!" Santana shudders when the tone of _that _voice sends pings of pleasure down below the waistband of her panties.

"I-I have to go." She stuttered, the panic settling in.

"Wait, Santana. Don't leave, that was _amazing._" Brittany states dreamily, smiling like a huge dork completely oblivious to the inner turmoil Santana was experiencing. Before Brittany can stop Santana she's already halfway out the front door and slamming it just as Brittany reaches for the knob.

* * *

Somewhere off in the distance the shutter on a camera flickers, capturing tousled raven black hair and mocha tan skin.

"Gotcha." Someone whispered out in to the midnight air.


	7. Got a secret

**A/N: **_I decided to split this chapter up into two parts which is why it's much shorter than my past updates, but I hope I'll be able to get the next update out sooner rather than later. Thank you all so much for the reviews, I love feedback in any form as long as it is constructive. Also I decided to change the summary for this story because I felt it didn't really give enough information. Anyway here is the update! :) _

**Disclaimer:** **I don't own Glee or any of the characters other than the ones I have created. I was inspired to write this story by a game called, Infamous, you should check that out sometime. **

* * *

Brittany had been pacing in front of Santana's apartment for the past ten minutes trying to find a way to approach the situation. She had actually gone up to the door many times already with her fist pulled up ready to tap against the wood, but then she would chicken out and start pacing again.

"Why is this so hard?" She mumbled to herself, frustrated fingers kneading into her aching temple.

Last night she spent most of her waking hours tossing and tangling herself up in sheets worrying about Santana and why she had run away from her so suddenly. Nothing could stray her mind from silky strands of raven hair or eyes so deep she could get lost for a while. Everything about Santana—even down to the way she messed with her ears when she was nervous, was so…alluring. Which is why Brittany found herself outside wearing only a measly layer of cotton pajamas to defend from the bitter cold.

"Brittany? Girl, are you crazy? It's freezing out here." Mercedes called from the front door, startling Brittany who had been too caught up in her thoughts to see the red apartment door swing open.

"Umm…no. At least I don't think so." Brittany shook her head, shivering as another gust of wind bit through the thin material of her pajamas.

"What do you need?" Mercedes quickly bit off, closing the door a little further as she fit herself in the gap. Brittany frowned, wondering why she was behaving so strangely.

"I-is Santana up? Is she here?" Brittany fired off questions, the nervous tendency of picking at the hairs at the nape of her neck returning.

"Um…no, actually. She was called in to work early and won't be back until late this afternoon. Did you need to tell her something?" Mercedes raddled off, only stopping to pop out her question.

"Actually yeah." Brittany stated firmly and Mercedes brightened at this, a look crossing her face as she shifted uncomfortably at the door. "B-but, it can wait." She lost all of her resolve just a quickly.

It was strange how Mercedes seemed to deflate as well, something like disappointment crossing her features.

"Are you sure?" She said quietly and the _way _she said it, the way her eyes were unwavering as blue snapped up to meet hers had Brittany second guessing herself.

"No. Can you tell Santana that whatever happened last night doesn't have to be anything more…if she doesn't want it to be?" Brittany whispered the last part.

That's when something strange tickled at the tips of her fingers like a thrumming pulse of a beating heart. But it wasn't her heartbeat. She could _feel _someone else's just behind Mercedes and Brittany knew now that she had been lied to because Santana was just behind the door. Somehow this knowledge gave her the courage to say what she did next.

"By the way, Santana. You don't have to hide from me either." The words slipped off her tongue bitterly and with that she had gone back to her apartment, unusual anger surging a current of electricity through her veins. Maybe she'd take Puck up on his offer to start training sooner rather than later.

* * *

"Jesus, Santana. You're such an idiot." Mercedes snapped as she closed the door to their apartment.

"Excuse me?" Santana responded with the typical anger she almost always felt when she was nervous or anxious.

"Brittany is a really nice girl. A little kooky sometimes but still, and I haven't seen her look like _that _since…since—"

"Mercedes, that is none of anyone else's business besides Brittany and the people she chooses to tell." Rachel shrieked indignantly as she stepped out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging halfway out of her mouth.

"Wait, what the hell are you talking about hobbit?" Santana turned a vicious glare on Rachel who promptly sputtered toothpaste all down her chin as she nervously backtracked.

"N-nothing. It's nothing that she won't tell you in time I'm sure." With that she closed herself back up in the bathroom without further explanation. Santana turned to Mercedes, eyebrow lifted questioningly.

"Nope. You ain't gettin' nothing from me." She threw her hands up in protest, shuffling past Santana in a hurry.

"Wait, Mercedes what—" Santana needed answers that she definitely was not going to get.

"Oh! And Santana? You should really fix what you just messed up." She slammed her door and it didn't seem like she was going to be back out anytime soon.

Santana had officially checked herself into the mad house.

* * *

"Stand at attention." Puck bellowed as he ushered Brittany into the center of the room. Her heart was racing with uncertainty, as they seemed to become completely different people, standing erect and unmoving.

"This is Brittany." Puck smiled knowingly and just like that the crew erupted into a fit of rowdy catcalls and wolf whistles. Brittany resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she tugged at the drawstrings of her dark blue sweater with a chubby cat that was similar to Lord Tubbington on the front.

As Puck continued to drone on about the necessary preparation for upcoming missions, Brittany's eyes drifted to one woman in particular—the only woman, at the end of the line up. She knew staring was kind of rude but she couldn't help it. Before long she'd gotten so caught up in staring at the woman that she didn't register someone calling her name.

"Brittany?" Puck urged.

"Huh." Her distraction immediately locked eyes with her.

"Take your sweatshirt off." That snapped Brittany out of it.

"What? Why?"

Puck nodded his head at someone behind Brittany and before she knew it, there was a harsh tug on the hoodie of her sweater and she was brought to the floor like a heavy sack of potatoes. The woman from before had pinned her to the floor as if it was nothing to take Brittany down in point blank three seconds.

"Thank you, Aphasia." Puck said sickeningly sweet.

"Rule number one, never wear clothing that is going to get you _killed_." Puck continued as he paced back in forth in front of the crew of men while Brittany still lay pinned to the floor.

"For example," he nodded in Brittany's general direction, "hoodies are a sure fire way to get wrung up around the neck and choked to death."

"Let her up, Aphasia." Puck said offhandedly, still pacing across the black floor mats.

After Brittany dusted herself off and tried to adjust her ruffled sweater, Puck turned to her once again, eyes smirking but face stoic.

"Now will you take the hoodie off?"

Brittany just nodded mutely, frowning when the fabric of the cotton sweatshirt clung to her body with static.

"Now!" Puck yelled, which startled Brittany who only had about two seconds to register the black heavy boot flying into her peripheral. She ducked, dodged the projectile boot and swung her leg out to sweep Aphasia off her feet.

"Good." Puck mumbled, not really acknowledging Brittany's well done with any specific emotion. Perhaps the frown on his face was one of approval.

"I'm confused—" Brittany started as she finally pulled the sweatshirt off, which left her in a tight t-shirt.

"Not a surprise there." Aphasia interjected, grumbling from her crumpled position on the mat. A few of the men laughed, not all—Puck being one of the latter.

"Puck, how is this going to help me?" Brittany ignored the mocking with ease, however the throbbing in her hands and all along her arms wasn't lessening the more frustrated she got.

"I'm trying to coach you on your reflexes. Nothing's worse than getting an unnecessary shiner from a few wimpy blows that were lucky enough to hit the target."

"Umm…okay." Brittany still wasn't entirely convinced that serving as a personal punching bag was going to help her.

"What's your fighting stance?"

"I don't fight." Brittany responded immediately, taking a defensive step back when Aphasia had finally found her feet again.

"What was that just a few seconds ago then? It sure looks like you know a little bit about something at least."

"Does wrestling with Lord Tubbington count?" The question was simple but the reaction, as always, was an indignant scoff or a worried look. Which is why Brittany never really liked asking questions because she always felt like hers never made sense. Nothing made her feel more insecure than people making fun of her intelligence.

"Sure, Brittany." Puck got quiet all of a sudden, the harshness left his voice and his eyes grew soft. Understanding.

"Now!" Puck shouted just like before and Brittany flinched in fear of another flying boot, but none came. Peeking one eye open, she flushed in embarrassment when all eyes remained on her in the center of the circle.

"I thought…" Brittany began sheepishly.

"You thought wrong." Aphasia interjected yet again.

"Did I hurt your feelings or something? I'm sorry if I—" Brittany turned to Aphasia, who promptly scoffed at the question.

"Girl, I'm not a flower." Aphasia sassed back.

"Girls, girls." Puck stepped in between them, even though neither girl had approached the other negatively.

"Why is she here? She's only going to get us all killed." Aphasia mumbled quietly but Brittany could hear a pen drop from thirty thousand miles away if she concentrated hard enough.

Something was tweaked in Brittany's chest and her heart beat a little faster as her pulse quickened a little further. Her vision blurred and little flecks of red-hot anger coated her vision.

_She's only going to get us all killed, _echoed eerily in her head.

The lights flickered as energy rocketed through the tips of Brittany's fingers and ebbed and flowed in small flares.

"Oh, look she's angry now. Are you going to electrocute me, freak?" Aphasia taunted. A few of the men behind them shifted uncomfortably.

"Aphasia, I think that's enough." Puck reprimanded as the flares grew and glowed bright blue from Brittany's fingers.

Aphasia stepped closer to Brittany and before anything could be done, Brittany was pressing her hands against strong shoulders to give herself some space but she underestimated the strength of her powers.

Aphasia dropped cold, unconscious from the current that had rocketed through Brittany's fingers and into her skin.

"Brittany! What the hell?!" Puck yelled, as he quickly checked Aphasia's pulse.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" Brittany moved to go forward but Puck held his hand up to keep her in place.

"No, you've already done enough."

"If you would just tell me what I'm doing here." Brittany tried for answers.

"I'm trying to keep you from getting tortured like some terrorist accomplice. Whatever it is that happened to you—and what happened right after that, hasn't been received well." Puck yelled, sighing in relief when he finally got a pulse from Aphasia.

"The big guys have been riding my ass for actually thinking that you could be of some help to us," he ran frustrated hands through auburn hair "they don't understand why I have so much faith in you, but they trust my judgment and I _need _you to prove me right."

Someone was clapping, slowly and sarcastically, but they were clapping all the same.

"Bravo." Sebastian Smythe weaseled his way into the sunlit training room as all eyes focused in on the camera strapped around his neck.

"Oh, don't worry. These pictures are safe with me." He said, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he fumbled with the lens.

"What are you doing here?" Brittany questioned.

"I'm here to make you look good, sweetheart." He'd said it as if it were a well-known fact.

"Puck, what is he..." Brittany turned to look at him, but Sebastian quickly filled it in for her.

"I'm like the Peter Parker to your Spider-Man." He continued, lecherous smirk transforming his weasel features into a look of absolute gloating. When he noticed that Brittany still wasn't making the connection he decided to up the arrogance.

"Let me break it down for you. You be the obedient little superhero I know you can be and I take pictures that no one else can get." He starts pacing, only stopping to look upon Aphasia's unconscious body with a hint of distaste and haughty arrogance.

"I then release these _never before seen," _he emphasizes this with a sleazy wink, "photographs in a full cover story and boom…award winner in my back pocket. And everybody loves you too of course."

"So you're just using me?" Brittany quipped.

Sebastian ignored the accusation with practiced skill. "I can just see it now, you're a special one I can tell." He seemed so convinced.

* * *

"You maxing out daddy's credit card on strippers is not going to make this company look any better. In fact we'll all look like jackasses overseen by a money mogul that has monopolized control over every facet of his business, but can't seem to control his own daughter."

"_So…that's a no?" _Sugar questioned over the line, her voice coming out distorted and a little quiet.

"Where are you?" Santana snapped, a little tense from what happened with Brittany late last night.

"_Outside the strip club, why_?" She voiced listlessly. Santana tried hard not to roll her eyes right out of her head.

"What did I _just _tell you, Sugar?" She picked at a stray strand of hair that kept falling into her face.

"_All I heard was maxing out, credit card, and strippers…so that's what I'm going to do. I mean I just told you that."_

"No! Sugar, I said not to do that. No, as in bad. Bad girl." Santana pressed the phone into the crook of her neck to hold it up with her shoulder as she poured a cup of coffee.

"_Is this some kind of foreplay? Because I'm not into that passive aggressive stuff, and no offense but you remind me of my mother so just…no."_

"Excuse me." She sputtered, grimacing when a few drops of scorching hot liquid scalded her fingers as the coffee flooded the mug.

"_Sorry. Asperger's." _

"Whatever," Santana dismissed it, "listen, you either help your dad look as professional as possible or you can tell him to kiss this damn merger goodbye."

"_Wow, okay. Are you always bitchy like this?" _

"Haven't been anything else since birth." Santana took it in stride.

"_How's Brittany?" _Santana hears distantly over the line. But when what Sugar says actually registers she raises the defensive flags once again.

"How the hell do you know who Brittany is?"

There's an awkward silence where Santana finds herself wondering why Will Schuester ever thought getting a desk job, as a secretary was a good life choice. Honestly the offensive amount of oily shit in his hair could definitely be put to better use elsewhere. Like greasing up the grill at some burger joint for example. Not three seconds after this thought does Santana observe Will running his hands through that bush he called his hair and momentarily realizing that his lapse in judgment left him with a huge glob of gunk on his palm.

She grimaced.

"_I know everything." _Sugar muttered ominously, snapping Santana out of her disgust. Although not entirely.

"I don't doubt it." She brushed it off, reminding herself to talk to Holly about keeping what was said between them just that, only between the two of them. She'd confided in Holly about Brittany trusting that she would keep quiet about it.

Speak of the devil.

"Santana?" Holly poked her head in through the office door.

"Yes." Santana pressed her hand over the end of phone and pulled away to give Holly her full attention.

"Meeting in ten, sweet cheeks." With that she left just as quickly as she'd came. Santana pushed the phone back to her ear.

"Listen, Sugar. I have a meeting right now but keep in touch so that I can make sure you don't screw things up for this merger, okay." She smiled, her tone joking.

"_Okay, Santana. Blah, blah, blah." _She hung up and Santana took one last sip of her coffee before gathering her folders and heading for the conference room on the third floor.

"Hey, Santana? Wait up." Tina came up behind her to wrap her fingers around Santana's forearm. She promptly flinched away from the personal touch, not liking the blatant invasion of her space.

"Yes." She bit out, not particularly invested in listening to what Tina had to say.

"Brittany was acting a little out of it last night and I was wondering if you, maybe, knew why?" Tina got a little quiet after that and Santana immediately jumped to the defensive.

"How would I know?" She couldn't look Tina in the eyes when she said this, almost as if doing so would reveal that she did in fact know why Brittany was acting so strange. She had an inkling of an idea that it was all her fault.

"Well, I just thought since you two have been hanging out more—"

"Stop thinking so much." Santana snapped, readjusting the manila folder in her arms before she left Tina mid conversation.

Hopefully, by saying it out loud Santana would be able to stop thinking so much as well.

* * *

Fingers balled into a fist tapped anxiously at a red door and the noise echoed loudly throughout the vacant hall.

Knock. Knock. _Knock_.

The tapping became incessant and by the time someone finally answered the door, Brittany was bouncing on the balls of her feet with impatience.

"Rachel," Brittany stormed past into their apartment, "I need your wishbone."

"My what!" Rachel clutched at her chest in horror.

The frightened look only served to amuse Mercedes who was planted on the couch watching re-runs of Maury. However Brittany had posed her request in all seriousness.

"Wisdom. She means wisdom, Rachel." Mercedes chuckled while she flipped the channel back to Dr. Phil.

"I-want-Santana-to-go-out-with-me." Brittany breathed out, but her words came together in a rush of jumbled syllables and noises.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly," Rachel turned into the living room feigning ignorance, "did you just say that you wanted to take Santana—the spawn of everything evil and unhappy herself, out…on a date?" She seemed personally offended.

"Yes?" Brittany affirmed unsurely, as if Rachel wouldn't find fault with it.

"So you have a crush on Satan huh?" Mercedes quipped from her position on the couch, arms tucked beneath her chin in amusement as she peered over the back of the sofa.

"Brittany, I advise against pursuing anything with _that _woman_." _Rachel shuddered like an evil aura had settled in around her. Santana was like an older, hotter version of the bullies that used to demolish her sand castle shrines to Barbara Streisand in first grade. Except for the emotional trauma and wasted time, those people weren't half as bad as Santana's verbal slaughters and tirades.

"I guess it's not funny, life is far from sunny." Rachel hummed a few lyrics from funny girl, a manic look plastered on her face as ridiculing crowds of children filtered into her thoughts.

"No…I like Santana," Brittany directed her answer at Mercedes, "did you get a new roommate? Is that her name? How sad." She pouted.

"No, we didn't get a new roommate." Mercedes chuckled, shaking her head as she turned her attention to the new issue of Essence magazine.

"Rachel, are you okay? You look like Lord Tubbington after he got neutered." Brittany states unsurely, cautiously approaching Rachel.

"Why Santana of all people?" Rachel yelled indignantly, voice cracking at the very end of her statement.

"Why me what?" Santana said off handedly as all eyes snapped to her suit clad form closing the apartment door behind her. Brittany immediately trailed her eyes down toned legs elevated by a pair of killer black heels.

"Is that Kurt I hear calling my phone? Bye bitches." Mercedes immediately made an untimely exit into the recesses of her room.

Rachel slowly slipped out of the room as well when an awkward stare down between Santana and Brittany commenced.

"Santana I—" Before Brittany could even form the rest of her sentence, Santana shot off in the direction of her room tugging at the collar of her shirt uncomfortably.

"Not right now Brittany." Santana threw over her shoulder, not willing to turn around and catch the hurt look in haunting blue eyes.

"Go out with me?" She blurted in a jumble of words, and when Santana paused in her movements Brittany just about passed out. Sure she was good at talking to people and making friends but Santana made all that go out the window, and Brittany found herself melting into a pathetic mess as a result.

"Brittany," Santana sighed, tugging at her blazer and slowly loosening the buttons, "no." She had this thing about dating friends, even if she'd only known Brittany for a little while, that's what she saw whatever they had as. At least that's what she tried to convince herself they were. Just friends.

"Only as friends." Brittany pleaded, stepping forward when Santana actually seemed to contemplate the idea.

"You can even pick where we go." Brittany continued, as she made sure the pout marring her features was in Santana's direct line of sight.

"My mother and little brother are going to a show on Broadway Friday night. Do you…want to come with us?" Santana asked quietly, not making eye contact when Brittany immediately said 'yes.'

"Wait, Friday is tomorrow right? No one ever taught me how to read a calendar." Brittany said softly, self conscious about her lack of knowledge in certain things.

"Yeah, Britt." Santana chuckled and gave Brittany a look. It wasn't mocking but more so…intrigued. Santana had never met someone like Brittany before which wasn't a bad thing just, different.

Brittany grinned like she had a secret. Well technically she had a few but this one she liked the most.


End file.
